


Shoot Some Prompts...

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble series resulting from prompts I receive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Root gets hurt during a mission (nothing too serious) and has to stay with Shaw while she recuperates, and Shaw is surprisingly caring and tender while she thinks Root is asleep.

This was getting ridiculous even by Root’s standards. It was the fifth time this month that she had arrived-unannounced- at some ungodly hour, and Shaw was almost becoming used to it.

So when the phone rang and she heard Root’s voice she didn’t even bother vocalising her well-known annoyance; she hung up, pushed herself from the bed and walked towards the door, letting her into the apartment.

 'Sameen, looking as delighted as ever to see me.'

Shaw glared, assessing the damage this time: Root was leaning heavily on her left leg and her right shoulder was hunched and kept tense.

 'I'm not your personal physician Root.'

'Yet you still patch me up; why is that Sameen?' queried Root playfully, walking with a subtle limp over to the couch in an effort to hide her injuries.

'You should be thankful I do,' Shaw retorted, her tone laced with annoyance.

It was pre-daylight hours for fucks sake. 

She went into her bathroom to grab some painkillers and her first aid kit before coming to kneel before Root, pulling her good arm away from her shoulder and inspecting the wound.  

'You were grazed by a bullet: shouldn't need stitches. Let me see your leg.'

Root complied, slowly extending her injured limb and watching intently as Shaw rolled up the leg of her jeans with care. There was a deep slice down her calf. It wasn't fatal but it need sewing up.  
   
'This one will need stitches. Do you want painkillers?' 

'No, I'll be fine. No needles. Just do it.'

Shaw looked at Roots face, noticing her fist clenching the sofa in anticipation of the pain.  
   
'I'll be quick,' she declared.

If Shaw had looked up she would have seen Root smiling, despite the pain, at Shaw's slight degree of concern.

 The wound was patched with only mild scolding from Shaw and a small amount of complaint from Root. They sat on the sofa as Shaw handed Root a glass of whiskey.  

'To help you sleep,' she answered in response to Root's questioning face.

 'I didn't know you cared Shaw,' teased Root, taking the offered drink  
  
 'I don't, but I need you to sleep so I can.' 

They sat in comfortable silence, Shaw thankful for Root's apparent silence. As suspected, it didn't take long for Root’s breathing to even out and her figure to relax ever so slightly, something she never would have done awake.

 Shaw stood, prised he half empty glass from Root’s grip and set it down on the coffee table. She rummaged around her wardrobe for a blanket and grabbed the other pillow from her bed before returning to the couch. She gently lifted Root’s head with what anyone else would have called care and placed the pillow under it, laying the blanket on top of her curled, sleeping form.  

Shaw stood over her, watching like a guard dog every muscle tense. Each time Root breathed a strand of her flew up into the air before hitting her nose again in a cycle.

 It annoyed Shaw.

She bent down and slowly pushed the strand behind Root’s ear, fingers brushing at her skin before abruptly standing up.  She stood over Root for a few more minutes before padding through to her own room to get some well needed rest. She kept her ears open, listening for the rhythmic breathing of her visitor keenly in the dark noting any change. 

Satisfied that no one would be dying to night, she rolled over and closed her eyes.


	2. Mission Critical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Root has to choose between saving Shaw or failing a mission. Will she go against the Machine's advice?

The Machine had been getting more vague these days but she’d never been this wrong, never failed Root like she had now and that scared her: for the first time in a long time, she was terrified.

The only sound was her breathing and the faint gasps of Shaw getting weaker by the minute. Both of them were crouched behind a small container on the top floor of a 3-story building owned, they were now aware, by Decima. Agents were combing the building floor by floor and it would be a matter of minutes before they reached their location.  

Shaw had been shot when they’d been caught hacking into the security files and while the agent was now dead, Shaw was suffering. Right now Root needed a plan, and She wasn’t giving her one.

She glanced over at Shaw who was raising an eyebrow at her waiting for instructions that, Root was slowly realising, might never come.   
   
'She's not talking. She didn't warn me about this Shaw.'

Panic seeped into the edges of Root's voice as she slowly took stock of their situation and Shaw's critical condition.

 'What do you mean She's not talking? She's sulking now, of all times?' whispered Shaw harshly.  
  
Ordinarily Root might have beamed at the use of a pronoun. 

 'It's been harder for her to get in contact. She's trying…but she can't talk. Not like she used too. Her information...it's not..it's been vague at the best of times. She didn't tell me about the Agent or what this building was for…'

Root trailed off. She glanced out over the container looking for a sign that the agents had reached the floor; any excuse not to look at Shaw who was herself burning holes in Root's head with her eyes.

 'Root,' she hissed, forcing her to look, 'I don't care about the stupid Machine; we need a plan _now_ or we’re both going to end up dead.’

She shifted her position a bit, wincing as she did so.

Both of them glanced down at the blood seeping through Shaw’s left hand. Her right grasped a gun that was primed. 

'Shaw…I'm sorry…' Shaw faced her sharply, 'I can't…'

Shaw frowned

 'Root shut up.'

They locked eyes and Root smiled faintly, understanding what Shaw was trying to do in the only way she knew how.

'I have a plan. But you're not going to like it' declared Shaw, looking at Root meaningfully.

It didn't take her long to understand.

 'No. Sameen no.'

'You have to get out of here and I'm injured. So follow my plan or we both die, the mission fails and Samaritan's two giant steps closer to winning.'

 'Sameen I won't let you. She has a plan.'

 'If she does she's not coughing up. Or this was her plan and she knew this would happen: you said yourself to expect casualties. So it's this or nothing.'

 'But not _you._ ' 

The two stayed silent, Root begging Shaw to reconsider. She almost did, but then she heard the echo of boots up the stairs and her training kicked in. She was a soldier first and foremost and her mission was her priority: she would get Root out alive whatever the cost.

She turned to face the stairwell.  
   
'On my mark, run' 

'Sameen!'   
  
'One.'  
  
Root looked at her desperately, willing the Machine to help her now or Reese to come smashing through the door guns blazing to save the day.   
  
'Two.'

She gave up hope as the steps became distinctly louder. 

'Sameen…please…' she whispered so quietly she was hardly sure she said it.

Shaw turned to face Root and their eyes locking.

Shaw smiled.

 'Three,' she whispered, standing up and firing. 

Root ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: heavily re-editting this almost a year later I would like to note this was written just before the start of s4. I am, quite literally, a psychic. A psychic who wishes she were wrong, but a psychic nevertheless.


	3. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Shaw gets compromised on a mission, what is her first plan of action and how does it involve Root? Though anything with Root being compromised is fine too. :)

'Fuck,' muttered Shaw as she limped through the dark streets, trying to stem her bleeding. **  
**

A knife wound to her left leg, a bullet graze on her right shoulder and a deep glass wound to the abdomen where she'd had to _dive through a fucking window_ to get out of that damned warehouse.  

_'Routine mission,'_ he’d said, ' _Should be no problem,'_ he’d said. He’d  ** _assured_.**  

Shaw was going to kill Finch when she got back. Or maim him. 

Maybe she’d even let Bear do it. 

But for now she had to get out of the streets and find a place to tend to her wounds. She couldn’t go back to her apartment, not with Decima so close behind and she didn’t want to risk exposing Reese or Fusco. She kept limping along as quickly as possible, hugging the buildings in attempt to at least keep herself somewhat hidden.  

Her eyes caught sight of a pay phone and she stopped.  

_Oh hell no._

She took a deep breath. It was her only option and she knew it. She wasn’t even sure it would work.    
  
She hobbled over to the exposed pay phone, glancing either side of her before picking up the phone and looking at a nearby security camera mounted on some traffic lights .

'I can't believe I'm doing this-I'm talking to a camera- things are desperate here but you already know that. I'm presuming you know what I need.'

Okay so she wasn't being that polite or even asking for anything in particular but the Machine knew everything that went on anyway didn't it? Or at least Root seemed to act like it did.  She looked at the phone and put it to her ear waiting for a dial tone, anything that might indicate the Machine heard her.

Before she could turn back to the security camera and possibly shout at it for ignoring her at this crucial time, a red people-carrier screeched around the corner, swerving before it parked in front of the pay phone.

Shaw immediately tried to enter a pseudo-defensive stance, quite tricky when you’re losing litres of blood.

The passenger door opened. Root was grinning, but concern evident in her face. 

'Get in Shaw. She told me you'd be here.'

 Shaw huffed in disbelief and annoyance but got in, smirking just a little and maybe even offering a little nod of thanks to the security camera as the two drove off to some undisclosed location once again. 


	4. Waiting (on her)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Jealous Shaw for a change.

It was a simple job. The number was a rich investor's playboy son who had far too much money than he knew what to do with and got involved in some dangerous schemes. Long story short, the kid was now being hunted by at least three known gangs and of course, instead of staying put had flown to Vegas for some apparently well-earned gambling, sex and booze; not necessarily in that order.  

So here they all were, Root included because apparently the Machine had placed her on leave since her run in with Samaritan and it's operative, watching and waiting.

Harold had set them up as employees in the Casino-stroke-hotel as he worked from the bedroom of operations they'd bought for the stay: John had taken up position as a bar tender, Shaw as a waitress serving the ever-growing tables of blackjack and Root was well...Root. 

Setting herself up as a possible suitor Root had gone in guns blazing (for once not literally, though there was a small Beretta in her purse along with some zip ties in case of emergencies) ordering a Sex on the Beach, sipping from her glass as she eyed the number every so often, piquing the guys interest.

Shaw would never admit it as she watched the dance, but Root was good. 

'Okay we've got trouble outside. Looks like they're planning on a hit, not a subtle one I might add,' spoke Harold through their earpieces, watching through the security cameras.

 'How long have we got?' muttered John as he shook his next cocktail order .

'10 minutes tops.'

 'I'm on it,' quipped Root, placing down her cocktail and heading over to the Roulette table where the number was losing badly.

She fully engaged him, brushing his forearm, laughing when appropriate, grinning and nodding appreciatively at his attempts at flirting; she even blew on his dice before he rolled, laughing airily as she did so.

Shaw watched with rapt interest, her mind distracted as she served drinks to waiting players with a plastered smile. She followed Root's every move, ensuring (she would later tell herself) that Root was fulfilling her part of the mission. 

Her grip tightened on her tray subconsciously as Root leant in to whisper in his ear. 

'Relax Shaw, the perps aren't gonna be a problem. Just focus on exit strategies,' commanded John in her ear.

Of course the perps wouldn't be a problem: they were amateurs. And as for escape strategies, she had seven lined up with only two involving the demolition of the entire establishment. 

Her teeth ground together as the number put his arm around Root's waist.  She let go of her tray with her right hand and under the pretence of scratching her back, felt for the comforting handle of her trusted firearm which she assumed might be necessary any minute now, for one reason or another.

A slow 5 minutes passed, Shaw side-eying Root and the number's efforts to get her into bed with him. Root was now brushing up against him they were standing so close and she pinpointed the guys hand on her leg.  She was pretty sure her nails were denting the plastic of the tray by now.

Why couldn't the perps just attack already and save her the hassle of pretending to like these people?  She need to shoot something. Now.  

What broke her usually plentiful restraint was not the touching or the stroking, though he was far too close for comfort, but the smirk she gave him. Or was it her? She couldn't tell and didn't really care in that moment. He'd said something and she'd smirked, looking past him and directly at Shaw who looked like she was about to fell the whole room if she didn't get out.

Shaw's eyes narrowed and she strode over to them; as she strode past she tripped ever so slightly, causing the martini she'd been carrying to spill straight onto Root's low-cut dress.

 'I am so sorry,' professed Shaw, sounding strained and looking anything but sorry as she glared at Root who was uncharacteristically speechless at the bold move.

She quickly regained herself, smirking at Shaw eyebrow ever so slightly raised.

 'That's okay. I'll go get her cleaned up,' declared the number, seeing an opportunity that Shaw quickly cut off as she gripped the wrist that had latched onto Roots arm.

 'I insist Sir,' she all but growled, 'I'd feel terrible if I didn't escort her to find something to wear.'

The guy looked like he was about to protest but Shaw didn't give him time too, squeezing the wrist close to breaking point and forcing him to let go as she all but dragged Root away and out of the casino complex heading for the stairs down to the parking lot.

As she was climbing down the stairs John's voice rang in her ears.

 'What the hell was that?' he demanded.

 'Yes Shaw, what was that?' echoed Root in a softer tone.

Shaw turned around to shoot a glare at her before facing forward and quickly taking the stairs down.

 'I needed to extract Root before things got hairy.'  
   
'Well get back here.' 

 'Handle it without me. I'll prep the escape route. I'll be waiting outside.'   
  
'Good idea Ms. Shaw, although next time do tell us of your plans. I'll meet you by the vehicle in five.'

Shaw grunted her assent, continuing to virtually drag Root down the concrete stairs.

 'You can let go now Sameen; I'm not going anywhere,' teased Root, that  _smirk_ plastered on her face.

Shaw abruptly let go, not bothering to look back.

'So what was that Sameen? I thought I was doing fine?' questioned Root, an air of false innocence creeping into her voice.

 'I told you: I needed to get you out of there.' 

'Out of that situation? But I was enjoying myself,' pouted Root, her grin growing wider.

 'Well unless you wanted to be a slab of meat with holes through it I decided I'd ignore your wishes,' growled Shaw, her pace quickening slightly.

She was not trying to run away from this conversation. 

'But I'm sure our number would have been excellent protection don't you think? He was rather nice.' 

'I bet he was,' muttered Shaw just loud enough for Root to hear .

'Don't be like that sweetie: he was rather charming. Unless...you're jealous?' questioned Root apparently innocently.

But Shaw knew her better than that and while she would never admit to jealousy because Shaw didn't  _do_ jealousy she would admit to herself that the sight of him incited a rather violent reaction  involving a gun and not necessarily some kneecaps.

 Instead of responding Shaw further quickened her pace in a completely vain attempt to distance herself from Root, who had no trouble keeping up down the stairs. 

Soon they reached the bottom, pushing through the grey door and into the deserted parking lot. They stood side by side scanning for a decent ride. 

 'What about the number?' questioned Root, suddenly serious for a moment as she remembered they'd left him. 

'John is handling it,' declared Shaw, though she had no idea if he actually was.

 'Oh yes I'm fine thank you very much,' grunted John, gunfire echoing in the background, 'just have the goddamn car ready in 3,' before comms were cut off.

Root chuckled.

 'Seems your jealous actions may have taken their toll on John.'

Shaw spun to face her.

 'Jealous? I just saved your ass.'

 'From what Sameen?' teased Root.

Shaw just growled in frustration.

 'I'm just saying, I have a gun and he did represent a great opportunity to use those zip-ties I've been saving. It could've been-' 

 Root didn't get a chance to finish. The moment the word 'zip-ties' had been mentioned Shaw had whipped round and narrowed her eyes in utter fury. And then she acting-as she often did-on her anger, pushing Root into the nearby concrete pillar harshly and roughly connecting their lips.  Root's head hit the pillar with a loud thud but she didn't complain, merely latching onto Shaw who was herself quickly pulling away.

 If it hadn't been Root, the quick once over Shaw gave her and the flash of darkened eyes would have been missed; but it wasn't. Root was too winded to comment so she settled for grinning to herself as Shaw strode straight past her and to a nearby black Ferrari, breaking into it and starting it up. 

'Get in' she growled.


	5. Deceptive (zip) ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Shaw turns out to be working for samaritan?

Root didn't move. She didn't say anything. Didn't respond. 

John blew up in anger, gun at the ready his self-control pretty much gone. He was raising his voice, shouting, even close to firing his gun but couldn't bring himself to do it even with all his training.

That was the difference between them. 

Harold was out of town but could be heard on the computer speakers begging. Urgency and desperation filled his voice as he realised his efforts were for the most part fruitless.

Root watched as all files deleted themselves, destroying all their work. Not that it mattered: they knew she'd seen too much, sat as his desk, had all the time in the world. 

Even Bear had some reaction, confused between his master and his mistress wondering what was happening. In the end he settled for sitting patiently next to Root, whining.

But Root said nothing. Did nothing. She had eyes only for Shaw, stood at the entrance of the station her true allegiances revealed and her infiltration thus compromised. 

'It was the mission,' she answered when John asked- shouted-'why?'

That wasn't good enough for him. Or maybe it was the fact the she wasn't even looking his direction, giving him the courtesy of a direct answer.

She was answering Root's unspoken question: the only thing she was capable of asking.

Shaw looked only at Root, but Root knew she wasn't seeing Samantha Groves anymore, hell she wasn't even seeing Root, just a target.

Is that what she'd always seen, through all of this?

John quieted. Harold was explaining in that voice he used: he would hunt her down, bring her back, stop Samaritan but Shaw didn't care. 

Her mission was complete anyway.

Root was gone. 


	6. Steak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Waking up together after their first time [A/N Which will be now assumed as the CIA safe house]

Shaw shifted in the bed, trying to bury herself deeper into her covers and get back to sleep in an ultimately futile act. She was awake, opening her eyes and stretching her legs as she took in the unfamiliar scenery.

She knew where she was: the CIA safe house, with its minimalistic furniture and uncomfortable-as-hell-bed. 

She pulled the covers aside and stood up alert, stretching the muscles in her hand and feeling the sharp pang of aching tendons in her wrists. She knew if she looked at them she’d find deep discolouration of the skin, remembering distinctly how they got there as she turned her head to seek the snapped zip ties that now laid on the bedside table. 

She moved to find some clothes, bending down to reach for yesterdays top and carefully sliding it over her back. The coarse fibres scraped against the burn wounds that wound over her chest and back causing her to bite back a groan.

It turned out Root really could put an iron to good use when she wanted. 

Shaw decided to omit her jeans for now, deciding that a top was enough pain to work through without the seams of her ridiculously tight jeans finding their way into the healing knife wounds on her inner thighs.

10 hours.  It turned out there was a lot Root could do in 10 hours. 

Satisfied she was somewhat decent though not really caring for the most part Shaw padded through to the main hall, the tased and now drugged operative slumped against the wall.

Shaw watched as Root busied herself frying something- Shaw couldn’t tell what yet- as she sat down at the big wooden table, the only thing filling the open entrance room. 

'Morning Sameen,' greeted Root in that ever familiar, playful tone.

Shaw grunted and Root turned around smirking.

 'Sleep well?' 

'No.'  
   
'Pity. Neither did I. You really need to work on your sharing skills Sameen.'

 'Well usually I don't have to share my bed,' she growled out mainly due to lack of sleep.

 'I offered to sleep on the couch,' remarked Root apparently innocently but Shaw could practically see the grin on her face as she concentrated on her cooking.

Shaw said nothing, merely continued watching Root who was fully clothed once again.

That irked Shaw: that she looked so normal, as if nothing had happened. It made it seem like she was the more affected (she wasn’t), that she was the only one that had submitted last night (she hadn’t been), that she was the only one refusing to acknowledge last night (she wasn’t really sure why that irked her, usually she’d be thankful, but with Root it did. Like she was being one-upped on her own emotional responses. Like she was teasing her without even knowing.)

So Shaw just stared.

'Like what you see Sameen?' teased Root, though Shaw had been anticipating it and didn't dignify it with a response. 

Shaw was pissed off at precisely how much she had  _enjoyed_  last night’s activities she was realising.

Of course she’d enjoyed them; for a woman who had usually went for the quick one time it was rare to get such a long experience without the threat of attachment, but it still pissed her off. 10 hours and she still wanted more. Did she? She didn’t  _do_ morning-after sex and Root had assured her last night that she would fully comply with the ‘One time only rule no strings attached’ and Shaw had believed her.  

A plate was placed down in front of her, pulling her out of her unusually distracted thoughts and almost startling her. She looked at it.  
   
Steak.

 'At 6:30 in the morning Root?' 

'Never a bad time for steak Sameen. Besides: you like steak. Think of it as thank you breakfast.'

At this Shaw's hand shot out and grabbed Root's wrist before it left the plate as she glared at the woman, who was smirking down on her not at all phased by the surely painful grip.

 'I don't do this,' growled out Shaw more to herself than to Root.

Root's grin dropped. Shaw suspected it was to prove her severity. 

'I know.'

 'One time. Never again.' 

'You made that perfectly clear, though I wouldn't be adverse if you were to beg again,' teased Root, the smirk back on her face in a flash. 

'I did not beg,' Shaw grunted, further tightening her grip.

 'Of course not Sameen,' placated Root as if talking to a child. 

'I'm serious Root. This was nothing. One time. One time only and that's not changing. This changes nothing.'

 'Of course. Though you won't deny it was amazing,' chirped Root, extracting herself from the now loosening grip and sitting opposite Shaw. 

They ate their highly unconventional breakfast in silence, Shaw focused on murdering her meat again whilst Root was too busy watching Shaw fondly, the Machine chirping in her ear every so often.

Soon they were done, and Root stood to collect the plates. 

Shaw acted on impulse: a bad habit of hers. 

As Root walked round to collect her plate Shaw stood up sharply, chair scrapping on the laminated floor.

 'Shaw?' questioned Root, unsure what was happening.

Shaw once again took hold of her wrist, prying the plate from her hand and setting it out on the table before leading Root to the doorway connecting the open room to the bedroom.

Root was still questioning, though she was beginning to form an idea at what was happening.

That idea quickly vanished, as with the large majority of other thoughts when Shaw roughly kissed her, pushing her backward and swallowing Root’s gasp as her spine made painful contact with the door frame.

Root wasted no time in responding, relaxing into it and grappling onto Shaw’s back.  Shaw pulled away, moving to attack Root’s neck already laden with bites and bruises. She relished every gasp of pain and pleasure Root emitted as she bit a bruise or reopened a bite wound, just as she relished the tightening of Root’s grip, nails digging through the fabric of her top and causing her to hiss as the burn wounds stung.  

Shaw continued her ministrations but before long pulled away slightly. Root was panting heavily, grip still unbearably tight on Shaw’s wounds her eyes blown wide and unfocussed. Shaw sought out her gaze anyway, and soon she got it as Root’s breathing evened out as she tried to calm herself. 

'One time.' asserted Shaw, her own pupils filling her iris'.

She knew when she was beaten but she'd be damned if she broke her own rule. Root smirked and Shaw wanted to wipe it off her face-though she realised that's probably what Root wanted as well.

'One time' she assented. 


	7. Professionals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After forgetting about this I'm getting a number of small drabble prompts again and to make my life neat and tidy I shall try and collect them as best I can here, including old ones i've found on the hard drive. 
> 
> anon prompt: We’re both professors in the same department and it enhances your reputation with the students as a mysterious enigma and my reputation as a stone-cold terror if we pretend to hate each other, plus when we back each other up in departmental meetings everybody’s so surprised they give in right away

Society thrives on information, and information survives on people, and people survive on gossip. 

People are instinctively drawn to gossip, like moths to a flame. Word of mouth, the original form of storytelling is still very much alive only used now in whispers and hushed tones: an eternal game of Chinese whispers. 

Root loved it. 

The problem with this method of information progression, as Root well knew, was it tended to be unreliable: facts tended to get distorted, twisted and changed and not always for the better. But if you could make the system work for you, learn how it operated and moved then things might just get interesting. 

Student relationships were secondary. Everyone knew someone was fucking someone because that’s just the way it was, but departmental dramas? They were coveted: the most valuable form of exchange on any campus. So when the senior class of Root’s ‘Physics’ module (A misleadingly simple title: renowned as being selective, difficult and hilarious good fun, the ‘Physics’ module was…unconventional.) spread tales of a fight it didn’t take long for the entire senior year to hold a piece of the story. 

To understand the rate at which this particular piece of gossip spread imagine light. Now imagine something travelling faster than light. You’re close.

To understand why it spread with such speed, it is necessary to understand that Root was an enigma. Legendary. To be accepted into one of her classes was to be better than the best: to be trusted with a unique opportunity and freedom. Her real name it was said only Harold Finch knew-the man who had hired her, it was rumoured, after she hacked his on board car system. And that rumour she didn’t even spread herself.

You see, what actually happened was nothing close to the rumours of a full blown fist fight now circulating the campus, but it had been just as dramatic for those watching events unfold because one of the well known facts that everybody knew was that Sameen Shaw hated Root.

Sameen Shaw: her offstandish attitude made bearable only by her incredible mastery of her chosen field. It was said she could kill with just a paperclip (that, she was happy to report, was true) and if that didn’t get you then the death-stare would.

Both women were highly respected and both, it was said, absolutely hated each other.

Sameen Shaw, it was said, had entered Root’s lecture to pick up a left over book. It was known that the two tried to avoid close quarters but this it seemed was unavoidable. Root, after winking seductively at the other woman had taken a full fist to the jaw and sprawled across the stage.

What had actually happened involved Root making an overtly flirtatious remark, Shaw slamming the table with her book and storming out, violently shutting the door but well, that didn’t make for such a dramatic story.

(A few quiet ones in the front row picked up on Root’s sultry tone but decided not to report it to other classmates. The observant ones, thought Root, could work it out if they wanted to.)

No one knew why Root was so aggravating to Shaw but all knew that on days when the two met it was safer to steer widely clear of Shaw’s warpath. And everyone knew when a staff meeting had been called, students warily watching as other professors walked out, faces confused and a little terrified: even Finch looked despairing as he returned to his office. The faculty was always quiet on staff meeting days.

Because you see Root and Shaw hated each other. The air crackled and fizzled as remarks fired back and forth between the two amidst a killing glare and a flirtatious smirk and no one knew how to handle them. It was pure resentment. 

And that’s exactly the way they liked it.

 

* * *

 

‘To what do I owe the pleasure Sameen?’ inquired Root, marking papers at her desk.

Shaw stood in the doorway of her office, taking a step in and closing the door behind her. Root raised an eyebrow but said nothing, flirtation on the tip of her tongue.

‘Don’t,’ cut off Shaw in warning, knowing exactly what was running through the other woman’s head.

‘Bad day?’

Shaw sat on the couch, reclining back and sighing. With no answer forth coming Root let it drop, and the only sound that filled the small room was the scratch of a pen correcting endless mistakes.

There was a knock at her door and Shaw groaned.

‘Come in,’ called Root pleasantly enough, looking slightly amused at Shaw.

John Reese stepped through: associate professor and one of Harold’s personal hires. He came to address Root but before beginning noticed Shaw’s presence, turning slightly to look at her with an amused quirk of his brow.

Shaw stared him down, daring him to say anything.

‘Root,’ he greeted in that suitably low tone, ‘and Shaw.’

Shaw didn’t like the way the humour itched in his voice.

‘Did Harry send you?’

John lingered on Shaw for a few seconds before turning to answer Root.

‘It’s about the funding. The budget won’t stretch Root and you’re spending far too much as it is.’

Root put down her pen.

‘I’m not moving on the issue: the research we have here is the best-‘

Shaw scoffed and Root shot her a look.

‘-and I intend to keep it that way.’

‘We appreciate the work you’re doing Root but Finch is insistent. Unless we find somewhere else to cut the budget from…’

‘What about your budget?’

John turned to face Shaw, surprised at her interjection.

‘We’re all tight as it is Shaw.’

Shaw shrugged.

‘Do you spend it all?’

‘Do you?’

Shaw raised an eyebrow.

‘Does it look like I take my students on trips to Disneyland? Take a portion from everyone’s budget: the combined will be enough to cover Root’s additional expenses.’

John looked at Shaw.

‘That seems a perfectly amicable solution, don’t you think?’ agreed Root in a light tone.

John returned attention to Root.

‘The others might not like that.’

‘Tell them it was my idea,’ waved off Shaw, closing her eyes as she relaxed again in a clear signal that he should leave.

He looked between the two women completely off balance at the calm atmosphere in the office: the way Shaw looked at home, taking Root in her stride: _defending her._

Root looked at him pointedly, echoing Shaw’s evident desire that he leave the room.

‘I’ll inform Finch.’

Sparing one last look just to check he wasn’t missing anything between the two, he left the office. Root sat back in her chair.

‘You should come.’

Shaw opened an eye, eyebrow raised.

‘To Disneyland.’

‘No.’

‘Sameen,’ whined Root.

‘No.’

‘I’ve heard the taffy is to die for.’

Shaw narrowed her eyes.

‘Just give it a chance Sameen you might like it.’

‘No.’

‘Romantic trips down the water slides-’

‘Root,’ growled Shaw, but she continued regardless.

‘-posing for memorable photos, dressing up-’

Shaw reached for the magazine resting on the other end of the couch and hurled it at Root, missing her by a wide margin. 

‘You couldn’t pay me to set foot in that hell, let alone with you,’ spat Shaw.

Root laughed, shooting an affectionate glance that was promptly ignored.

‘Besides, I hate you,’ grumbled Shaw, closing her eyes once again and settling back down.

‘Now Sweetie, we both know that’s not true.’


	8. Therapeutic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Are you still taking prompts? If so, Root reacting to Shaw saying "I love you" for the first time.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Ms. Shaw…’

‘No.’

‘Ms. Shaw please just-’

‘There is a line Finch. No.’

‘But the number-’

‘Let Reese handle it. He has Zoe.’

‘But Sameen,’ cooed a voice she very much did not want to hear right now, ‘it can’t be that bad.’

Root slid up behind Shaw, linking their arms.

‘Of course we’ll do it Harry,’ agreed Root brightly.

Shaw tugged her arm away.

‘Speak for yourself.’

Root pouted.

‘You can’t let me go alone Sameen.’

‘Then don’t go.’

‘But as Her Interface I have to,’ Root paused, pretending to consider alternatives, ‘I suppose I could go with John…’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s settled,’ interrupted Harold before the two of them could get any further, ‘your appointment is in an hour.’

Root grinned widely at Shaw who scowled, shoving her hands violently into the pockets of her coat.

 

* * *

 

‘Relax Sameen,’ instructed Root.

They sat in the waiting room of a very expensive office, seats pushed far too close together for Shaw’s liking as their elbows brushed.

‘You were the one who wanted to do this,’ grit out Shaw, ‘not me.’

‘It can’t be that bad. You might even enjoy it.’

‘Can I shoot the guy after?’

Root sighed, letting her head fall onto Shaw’s shoulder.

‘I’m sure She won’t mind if you punch him a little,’ placated Root and Shaw let her lips quirk slightly as Root relaxed onto her shoulder.

‘Mrs. and Mrs. Groves?’

Shaw shrugged Root’s head from her shoulder as Root began to stand.

‘That’s us!’ she called cheerfully as the two women followed the receptionist into the office.

‘Groves? Why do I have to take your name? You don’t even use your name.’

‘I didn’t think it would be that much of an issue Sameen. Why, have you given it some thought?’

Shaw glared but said nothing as they entered the office decorated in a manner in line with the fashions of the 1890s. It made Shaw’s skin crawl.

‘Mrs. Samantha Shaw. We’d have the same name Sameen.’

‘Shut up Root.’

‘Mrs. Root Shaw? Mrs. Samantha Root Shaw? I like it.’

‘Hello Mrs. Groves,’ began the man behind the large wooden desk ignorant of their conversation or Shaw’s increasing irritation, ‘and Mrs. Groves.’

He chuckled to himself at his apparently amusing assessment of their relationship.

‘Please, take a seat.’

The two did so on the deep maroon leather couch as he sat opposite them on an armchair of a similar colour.

‘So what brought you here today?’

They had agreed between them that it was safest if Root did the talking.

‘We saw your advertisement and well…’ Root looked bashfully at Shaw and Shaw resisted the urge to let her eyes roll, ‘we thought it might apply to us.’

‘Blissfully in love?’

Root nodded with slight reservation, playing shy.

‘Excellent. Well, you might not know much about the study but the less you know the better. I want this to feel natural. To be natural. I’m going to ask you a few questions: some will be hard to answer, others will come as second nature to you but I want you to answer as yourself. No conferring, answer in turn.’

Root nodded for them both that they understood.

‘Okay then,’ the man reached forward for the paper on the coffee table between them, ‘question 1: Cat or Dog?’

‘Cat,’ replied Root instantaneously.

Shaw nodded in agreement.

‘Question 2: Tea or Coffee?’

Shaw resisted the urge to sigh and she noticed Root’s own growing impatience.

‘Coffee. Always.’

Shaw nodded again in agreement.

‘Excellent. Question 3: Your partner has just given birth to your first child,’ Shaw bit back a scoff earning her a sharp look from Root, ‘is it a girl or a boy?’

‘Girl,’ replied Shaw, taking Root by surprise.

‘Yes. A girl.’

‘What do you call her?’

‘Um…’

‘Samantha,’ deadpanned Shaw and Root almost laughed.

The good doctor seemed oblivious, carefully noting down their answers.

‘Let’s continue: Your partner is assaulted on the street. They come home and give you enough information to find out who did it. What is the first thing you do?’

‘Shoot them.’

The psychiatrist looked up sharply at Shaw’s answer but wrote it down nevertheless. Shaw ignored the doting look shot her way.

‘Make their life misery,’ added Root, still looking at Shaw who turned away, arms crossed.

‘Okay then next question: Your partner is dying in your arms and you can say one last thing. What do you say?’

The room filled with silence, Root picking at her black nail polish as Shaw shifted uncomfortably neither wanting to be the first to answer.

‘What kind of questions are these?’ demanded Shaw, ‘this is ridiculous.’

‘I assure you Mrs. Groves I am simply trying to determine whether you are a suitable pair for the next stage of the study.’

‘By asking us questions taken directly from a Buzzfeed quiz?’

‘You know Buzzfeed?’ questioned Root.

‘Not the point Root.’

‘You can barely work Google how do you know Buzzfeed?’

‘Root,’ grit out Shaw not liking the mirth hiding in her eyes.

Root turned to the doctor.

‘She’s right these questions are a bit ridiculous.’

‘Please just answer.’

‘I don’t have one,’ admitted Root, causing Shaw to look sharply at her, ‘I mean I don’t know what I’d say; I say it all already.’

‘That’s okay. I can take that as your answer. And you Mrs. Groves?’

Shaw clenched her jaw.

‘I would say something.’

Root turned to look at her.

‘You would?’

‘Yes Root. I would.’

‘Root? Who is-’

‘What?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I want to know.’

‘Root.’

‘Sameen.’

‘Who are you two?’

Shaw turned sharply to the doctor.

‘Do you want an answer for your study or not?’

‘Well…yes please.’

‘Yes Sameen, do tell.’

‘Shut up Root.’

It was Shaw who noticed the red light on the chest of their good doctor, leaping forward and pushing him out of the way just as the bullet whizzed past her head.

‘Where the hell is your supercomputer Root?’ demanded Shaw, annoyed at being unprepared as Root ran after the assailant.

‘I was distracted!’ she called, kneecapping the receptionist as she tried to get away sniper rifle in hand.

‘By what?’ asked Shaw, now directly behind Root as they stood over the writhing shooter.

‘You,’ admitted Root not looking back.

Shaw let the silence hang as the doctor regained himself in the next room.

‘You know what I would say right?’ she ventured, unusually tentative but firm in her assertion.

Root didn’t reply immediately.

‘Yeah Sameen,’ Root’s eyes stayed firmly on the body on the floor, ‘but it’ll never come to that.’

‘You want me to say it?’ Root turned around.

‘No. You don’t need to.’

Shaw shifted.

‘Good.’

Root let a small smile grace her features, the most honest expression she could make and Shaw loved that smile the most.

‘Love you too Sweetie.’

Shaw looked away, grumbling about something unintelligible but Root didn’t really care.


	9. Scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: If you're so inclined, perhaps do no. 8 - things you said when you were crying for root x shaw? :)

It was cold, Root’s thin leather jacket not nearly enough to deflect the bitter chill of the early morning. Still, she sat alone on the park bench, nearby street lamp lighting her just enough as she shifted slightly eyes roaming the empty park.

She hadn’t moved in hours, allowing herself brief rest as she barely moved an inch from her spot, eyes scanning the same scenery over and over until the people dried up and all that was left was the grass and the wind. And now the sun was rising-she could see the orange glow just beyond the trees that signified daylight approaching. She couldn’t be sure but she guessed it was around 4am and she’d been here most of the night.

She uncrossed her legs, shifted her back straight before recrossing her legs tightly and pushing her hands further into her jacket pockets. There was somewhere she was meant to be. There was somewhere she was needed 4 hours from now and there was somewhere she might have been wanted 4 hours previously. Root shuffled back against the bench allowing the cold air to hit her neck and pierce the front of her jacket but her shoulders were stiff and her back sore so she ignored it.

Root’s head snapped to her left as a figure approached. The Machine remained silent in her ear and it seemed too early for a gentle stroll but Root’s eyes remained fixed on the black clad figure as it passed under streetlights.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see clearly: she knew who it was.

Her eyes followed as Shaw came to the bench, letting her eyes scan briefly for any kind of injury before they lingered on Root’s face. Apparently making up her mind, Shaw sat.

It was never going to be Shaw that broke the silence.

‘Morning sweetie,’ tried Root.

It fell flat even to her own ears. Shaw turned to look at her lounging against the back of the bench in a way similar to Root, though she was much better dressed for the weather.

‘What’re you doing?’

Always straight to the point. Root sighed.

‘Sitting Sameen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to.’

She was being petulant and she knew it, but she didn’t want to talk.

‘It’s cold.’

Root let out an empty chuckle.

‘I know.’

‘Come inside.’

‘I can’t.’

Shaw frowned.

‘That’s stupid.’

‘I know,’ sighed Root, voice soft.

She let the silence fall again: she didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t talk even after hours of silence because her eyes still felt heavy and each breath felt like pushing through water. Shaw shifted beside her.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, and the words felt awkward.

‘Do you actually care or are you just asking to get me to come inside?’

Root knew why Shaw fell back on anger.

‘I’m asking because I want you to come inside so you don’t die.’

‘That’s melodramatic.’

Shaw shrugged.

‘You like melodrama.’

Root sighed.

‘Go Shaw.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you're being idiotic.’

‘I was fine for all the hours you weren’t here.’

‘But now I am here.’

Root paused, letting out a shaky breath.

‘Yeah. Yeah you are.’

It was so easy to fall back on the silence. They worked so well in silence and it was something they both appreciated, but now it felt heavy to Root. It felt like it was all her fault. Again.

‘What’s wrong?’ tried Shaw again.

‘I don’t know.’

Her voice was so soft. Cracking at the seams she’d been trying to resew on her own but Shaw had been here not five minutes and already it was all unravelling.

‘Please Sameen. Go home.’

‘No.’

‘Why are you so stubborn?’

‘Why are you being an idiot?’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m going to cry.’

Shaw turned to look at Root, studying her profile intently and Root hoped she couldn’t see the effort it took to draw each calming word out from her lungs like it wasn’t about to tear her apart on a bench in a cold park at 4am: a place neither wanted to be.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

Root didn’t do hysterics-she had never met anyone who had- and now wasn’t the time for it as slowly water welled over, and she watched with her head down as drops landed softly on the leather of her jacket leaving it slightly darker than before.

‘Come home.’

‘I can’t.’

Her voice was gone, water lacing every word pushing more tears forth and she willed it to stop but that only made it harder.

‘Stop being dramatic,’ demanded Shaw, standing up and walking in front of Root.

Root looked up at the figure clad in black: black beanie hiding the top of Shaw’s head as stray strands of black hair whipped across her face.

‘It…’

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ affirmed Shaw to Root’s surprise, ‘and I’m not the one that’s going to make it make sense. But I’m cold and hungry and tired; so you can stand up and follow me and cry in that diner you always take me to where I can eat and we can actually have a conversation, or you can stay here.’

What had started as a strong speech had drifted into something with less conviction, almost embarrassment as Shaw made her ultimatum. It made Root smile even as her cheeks felt wet.

Root shifted before slowly standing up, Shaw’s eyes on her the whole way. Once she was stood Shaw came in close, eyes searching her face: for what Root didn’t know but Shaw’s brow furrowed further.

‘What?’

Shaw’s eyes met Root’s.

‘Nothing.’

Root didn’t believe her.

‘Let’s go.’

The two began to walk side by side, elbows brushing slightly and Root cherished the way Shaw let her brush her side, falling into step beside the woman as she almost leant against her.

‘Are you paying?’

Shaw sighed.

‘Yes Root: I’m paying.’

Root smiled. The tears still fell, water gathering in her eyes but Shaw was here and Shaw wasn’t running away and that was…nice. Everything was chaos and nothing was okay and it was all up to her and she was tired and cold and even a little hungry, but Shaw was here. And that was okay.


	10. Sobriety is Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: shoot. Things you said when you were drunk.

The bar was sticky as Root rested her forearms on the old wood, years of spilt beer and sloshed tequila melding with the leather of her jacket. Root wasn’t paying attention, staring into the glass in front of her studying each individual bubble that rose slowly through the bottle of her beer.

She bent over, her head coming to rest in the crook of her arms as she counted each and every pocket of air like it was the most important thing in the world.

‘What are you doing?’

Root knew who it was that had come to collect her: the Machine had dialled ahead and warned her of Shaw’s arrival.

‘Counting,’ replied Root cheerfully, not bothering to further acknowledge Shaw’s presence.

‘Let’s go.’

Shaw’s tone left no room for argument as she stood next to her, hands in her pockets eying other patrons for any sign of a threat. Root pouted, still gazing at the dark green bottle.

‘But I haven’t finished my drink.’

Shaw scowled: was that a whine? That was definitely a whine.

‘It’s 11pm Root and I’m tired. We’re leaving.’

‘You didn’t have to come,’ pouted Root, enjoying the way her head bounced up and down as she spoke, teeth clacking.

‘Yeah well your babysitter told me it was an emergency.’

‘Emergency? What Emergency?’

‘Exactly,’ muttered Shaw, definitely frustrated and with an intention to have words with The Machine about what precisely constituted an ‘emergency’.

‘I’m not waiting for you to finish your beer let’s go Root.’

Root looked up from her beer bottle (finally), raising her head slightly so she could look Shaw in the eye.

‘But I’m having fun.’

Shaw raised an eyebrow.

‘Looks like it.’

‘I have everything i need for fun: alcohol, peanuts-’ Root turned to the bar for the bowl of peanuts that she could have sworn were there not 5 minutes ago but were now definitely not there, ‘-hey where are the peanuts?’

Root caught the attention of the barman.

‘Hello yes sir. Sir. Mr…’ Root tilted her head and Shaw guessed she was getting a name, ‘Mr Abernath. Yes hello. Um..where are the peanuts?’

‘You want peanuts?’ he replied gruffly, cleaning a glass.

‘No. She doesn’t,’ interjected Shaw, keen to stop this from going any further, ‘she’s leaving.’

Shaw made to grab Root’s arm and began to pull her up from her seat.

‘Now Root.’

Root pouted once again but complied as Shaw pulled her up.

‘Have you paid,’ gritted out Shaw, really hoping she had.

‘She took care of it,’ waved off Root, already being distracted by a beermat on a nearby (occupied) table.

‘Sorry can I take this?’

The men at the table looked at her. One nodded tentatively and she picked it up.

‘No. Root put it _down_ ,’ commanded Shaw, wrestling the square piece of cardboard from Root’s surprisingly strong grip and chucking it back down on the table.

‘We’re going. Now.’

Shaw dragged Root from the establishment, muttering about how this definitely wasn’t her job and John was definitely going to be placed on Machine speed-dial from now on. Eventually Shaw made it to the exit and considered it a win as they stepped into the dark night.

‘Heeeeeey Sameen,’ drawled Root.

‘What?’ Shaw was still dragging her.

‘I like your coat.’

‘Great. Keep moving.’

‘But Saaaaaaaaammmmmm.’

Dear God this was going to get tiring very quickly.

‘What Root?’

‘You should wear your hair down more often,’ declared Root, reaching with her free hand for the band in Shaw’s hair and pulling it out.

Shaw whipped round.

‘Root. Give it to me.’

‘But you look so nice like that-not that you don’t always look nice you know I only have eyes for you right?’

Root sounded genuinely worried and Shaw was forced to reply in the effort to stop a full blown meltdown.

‘Yes Root. You only have eyes for me.’

Root nodded, more to herself considering Shaw was focused on reaching the car.

‘That’s good. I know we’re not big on communicating you know so I wanted to be sure.’

‘That’s nice.’

Root fell into silence, pretending to think as she ran her fingers through long black hair.

‘Fluff it out like mine a little. Yours is straighter though. People with straight hair always want wavy hair and vice versa. Did you every want wavy hair?’

Root kept speaking as Shaw kept batting away a hand trying to awkwardly ‘style’ her hair.

‘I swear to God Root: Get. In. The Car.’

Shaw tugged her violently, opening the door of a nearby black sedan and chucking Root onto the back seat. Shaw caught sight of a mischievous grin before she slammed the door, moving to get into the front. As she slide in, she noticed Root crawling through the gap between the two front seats, muttering (perhaps to herself, perhaps to the Machine; Shaw could never tell) and grunting as she slid into the passenger side. Shaw sighed.

‘I’m shotgun,’ declared Root.

‘Sure. Just. Don’t move again.’

‘Aye aye Sameen.’

The drive was thankfully relatively uneventful (if uneventful included an entire rendition of the musical score from ‘Frozen’, at which point Shaw was forced to ask how the hell Root had seen ‘Frozen’ to which Root had replied: 

‘I haven’t. But She has.’

Great. An AI with a Disney flare. Who knew?)

and Shaw managed to guide Root up the several flights of stairs to her own apartment, unlocking the door and pushing Root through.

‘Wait,’ declared Root, as if she had just stumbled across a very very big secret, ‘this is your apartment!’

‘Yes Root, it’s mine.’ Shaw wandered over to the kitchen area and began getting a glass of water for Root as Root inspected her surroundings.

‘I feel special.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you brought me here!’Root opened the fridge, ‘cooooooollllll.’

Shaw slammed the refrigerator door shut before Root no doubt accidentally blew up her apartment with one of the several Frag Grenades stored in there.

‘Drink. Now.’

Root tilted her head.

‘You’re telling me to drink?’

Shaw was very very much at the end of her patience.

‘Yes. Water. Drink it.’

Shaw shoved the glass into Root’s hand. She clasped it with both hands and took tentative sips, pivoting on the spot as she watched Shaw pull out a pair of pyjama’s.

‘You done?’

Root nodded.

‘Great. Bed. Now.’

Root pouted.

‘Only if you come too.’

‘I’m sleeping on the couch.’

Root walked over to Shaw’s bed.

‘But Sameen I’ll be cold.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘I will. And I like it when you stay.’

‘What?’ Root nodded.

‘When you stay. Usually you leave straight away but sometimes you stay. I like that.’

Shaw shifted.

‘That’s nice. Bed. Now.’

‘Will you stay?’

Shaw looked at Root, puppy eyes in full effect as Root’s fingers came up again to run through her hair, attention soon fully committed to the silky smooth locks. Shaw watched the movements carefully, slowly allowing herself to relax.

‘Fine.’

Root’s attention immediately snapped back to Shaw, grin in full forced and Shaw couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision and forced herself to ignore the impending consequences of giving in.

‘Really?’

Root looked like she’d just been given Christmas itself. Or Halloween. Root was more of a Halloween person. The fact that she knew this, Shaw didn’t dwell.

‘Yes really.’

Root’s grin softened.

‘Thank you Sameen,’ she all but whispered and Shaw almost forgot she was dealing with a drunkard.

Root leant down slightly and rested a soft kiss on her cheek before pulling away, gravity all but gone from her face as she reached for the pyjama’s in Shaw’s limp hand. Root began to strip.

‘Go to the fucking bathroom Root,’ muttered Shaw, turning around to give Root some privacy.

Root laughed and Shaw couldn’t help but crack a smirk.


	11. Like Whoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: “My friends dragged me to an amusement park and I’m deathly afraid of roller coasters but you work here and you’re really cute so I’m gonna keep riding the same terrifying roller coaster over and over so I can flirt with you and hopefully get your number while I’m waiting in line”

Root’s unimpressed swagger cleared the way for the duo, amidst the crowd of parents dragging excitable children around the amusement park.

Root hated children.

‘Come on Root,’ commanded Zoe, walking off and heading for…the biggest fucking ride Root had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

‘Zoe,’ began Root, voice deceptively calm: placating even. They did have a number to save after all. But Zoe was already joining the back of the line and Root really has no choice but to follow her.

‘Relax. You need to unwind and this is the perfect place.’

Root cast a look around, glancing at the screaming children and the stressed out parents and the constant yells that seemed the eternal soundtrack to this hellhole Zoe called ‘fun.’ Zoe bought the tickets for the ride ahead as Root decidedly avoided looking at the monstrous contraption they were about to set foot on.

‘A _rollercoaster_ ,’ Zoe had never heard the word imbued with such hatred, ‘doesn’t bring us closer to the number.’

Zoe waved her away.

‘John has the main plaza covered,’ Root raised an eyebrow, ‘and I’m sure Harold had no problems hacking the security cameras.’

It wasn’t the security cameras that worried Root-she was sure the Machine would let her know if the number emerged- it was the idea that the Machine was letting her be taken on this thing rather than giving her a task. Any task. Anything.

Even now, dressed down and casual, Zoe Morgan looked like she could run the city with two phone-calls and a memory stick as she slid into the seat, utterly unfazed. They’d needed all hands on deck for this one; which explained why Root was stepping into the cramped, sticky seat of a _fucking_ rollercoaster.

‘You seem tense,’ remarked Zoe, with genuine concern, ‘is something wrong?’

She knew that danger tended to follow John’s team around so it wasn’t as if she weren’t unprepared for such an eventuality. Root shook her head, eyes facing forward.

‘Nothing to worry about.’

The Machine, perhaps having sensed the strung tension of her Analogue Interface, began reciting what She hoped were soothing facts about the ride, its safety and other such features. While the soothing voice was certainly welcome, it didn’t really change much about her current situation, thought Root bitterly.

A strong hand violently tugging at the harness over her shoulders brought her from her thoughts and she snapped her head up. Root wasn’t used to being caught unawares and the worker seemed to know it, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

‘Thank you Sameen,’ cooed Root and Shaw scowled, pulling away and moving on.

Root’s eyes followed her affectionately.

Zoe watched the exchange, shaking her head slightly as the ride began to move.

Root closed her eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

‘Hey Sameen,’ sung Root, as Shaw once again checked her restraints.

‘Don’t you have somewhere better to be?’

‘Nope. Here is just fine.’

Shaw scowled. This was the sixth time Root had ended up on this ride, in this exact spot, looking up at her in that exact same way and Shaw was not above letting her fall to her death on this thing- health and safety could shove it.

‘You don’t even need to be here,’ grumbled Shaw.

‘When do you get off?’

‘Root,’ growled Shaw.

Root was far too happy, grinning innocently. The park was close to closing and the queues had grown shorter and shorter until Root was the only person continually boarding the ride.

‘You were the one who fucking put me in this job.’

Shaw looked around her, noticing that the area was empty of other customers made a decision. Walking away Root looked ahead, bracing herself for the inevitable but was surprised when she heard a rustling to her right. She turned, eyebrow raised in question as Shaw strapped herself in.

‘Last ride of the day,’ supplied Shaw helpfully.

Root broke into a grin, tilting her head slightly.

‘And you want to spend some quality time together?’

‘No,’ replied Shaw harshly and Root’s eyes looked on dotingly.

Shaw signalled with her hand and the ride started up, drawing Root’s attention away from Shaw and to the tracks ahead as the ride slowly rose into the air trying to remain calm. Shaw leant in close.

‘I just know you’re shit scared of this thing.’

Root hazarded a glance at Shaw before quickly deciding it was more important she keep an eye on the safety of the tracks ahead because one loose bolt by some idiot teenager and she was not okay with falling to her death on a _fucking rollercoaster._

‘Better hope you’re strapped in tight,’ remarked Shaw lightly, smirk definitely tugging at her lips.

‘Sam,’ warned Root.

‘What Root?’ Shaw turned her head to look at her as the ride stilled at the top of a very long drop. Root met her gaze trying very hard to keep herself entirely under control, ‘don’t you trust me?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You bet I listened to Aly and AJ while I wrote this.


	12. Affordable Solutions For Better Living Whilst Temporarily Incarcerated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Hi :) 'we somehow got stuck overnight in an ikea and I just want to go to sleep in one of the display beds but you’re slowly convincing me that it’d be fun to see how much shit we can get into before the morning staff come to open up the store’ au for Root and Shaw ?
> 
> I haven't been to Ikea in a while so I just sort assumed they'd have these things. Did check out their website though. Not bad.

‘Fuck.’

Shaw stood before the glass sliding doors inside the store. The closed glass sliding doors. The _locked_ glass sliding doors.

_Fuck._

Not again.

She had just wanted to do some last minute Ikea shopping: coat hangers and a towel and maybe some plates but she’d gotten lost, somewhere between the yellow crates and the reproduction modern art canvas prints and now she was stuck in this fucking store until morning.

It wasn’t the end of the world: she was resourceful. She could hole up for the night, wake up in time for the store opening and make it seem like she was never here. And not get done for trespassing.

‘Fuck.’

Shaw sighed, turning round to face the maze of the store that had done this to her before setting out to find the bed display area.

After what felt like several long, tiring hours in an endless kaleidoscope of yellow and blue and more fucking yellow she finally found them. She was cold, hungry and just wanting to sleep: big fluorescent lighting virtually blinding her retinas be damned.

She put her shopping down by the first bed she saw and clambered into it, setting an alarm to wake her up and happily settling down to sleep in peace.

Until the pillow hit her.

‘What the fuck,’ she said loudly, sitting upright.

She glanced around her but saw no one. She looked at the pillow in her hand in more shock than anything because who the _fuck_ threw a pillow at her?

Her head snapped up just in time to see another cushion heading her way.

Using the pillow in her hand she batted it away to the ground. Her eyes scanned her surroundings looking for any sign of movement in this newly declared warzone before settling on the rack of pillows nearby.

Shaw waited.

A head popped out.

Shaw launched her own attack and it hit the woman squarely in the head, earning Shaw a yelp and a giggle.

‘Are you fucking _twelve_?’ demanded Shaw across the expanse that separated them.

The woman stepped out from behind the rack and Shaw quickly determined that she was not in fact twelve but had very nice legs in very nice tight jeans and a very sexy leather jacket and some really very nice hair.

All of that was irrelevant, however, because she had thrown a pillow at Shaw’s head.

‘You don’t want to do this,’ warned Shaw, tone threatening.

The woman raised an playful eyebrow.

‘I think I do,’ she teased, before reaching next to her, grabbing a projectile from the rack and launching another cushion.

Shaw reached behind her for the other pillow on her bed and managed to hit the attack away before leaping from the bed, picking up the pillow previously aimed at her that now lay on the floor and launched her own projectile as she dashed across No Man’s Land.

The woman smirked and ran behind the display rack avoiding the incoming attack; Shaw followed the sound of clicking heels. As she rounded the corner, she was faced with a full-scale assault double-shot duck down European fine feather medium-size pillow attack that hit her head on with a thud.

The woman laughed loud and light and utterly at Shaw’s expense. Shaw growled, chucking her own pillow at the woman in front of her who caught it neatly.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Having fun,’ she replied lightly.

She put aside the pillow in her hands, letting it fall to the floor.

‘Call me Root.’

Shaw glared.

‘That’s not a name.’

Root shrugged.

‘Why are you here? Seems sort of odd to find someone sleeping in Ikea: do you sleep here often?’

Shaw fixed her with a stare.

‘Says the woman launching pillows at members of the public.’

‘Who was sleeping on an Ikea display bed after hours: I’d call that fair game.’

‘I’d call it fucking annoying.’

Root smirked, taking a step forward.

‘Wanna have some fun?’

‘No. I’m going to sleep.’

Root came to stand before her and Shaw was highly irritated to note that she was taller: looked down at Shaw as she held her challenging stare. It didn’t help that the ridiculous hair fell down the sides of her face the tips brushing Shaw’s shoulders.

Root pouted playfully.

‘That’s so boring.’

Shaw pushed past, ignoring her and heading back to the bed.

‘Fuck off.’

Shaw settled back down again confident the message had been received, pulling the covers up and closing her eyes wishing the other woman away.

The bed sank with extra weight as Root hopped on the end, long legs curling awkwardly under her.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Go away.’

‘We could have so much fun together.’

Shaw ignored her, pulling the covers closer. Root eyed Shaw’s phone on the display side table and grinned. She stretched out over Shaw’s body, leaning in close proximity over her head as she reached for the phone.

‘What the fuck,’ complained Shaw, batting the woman away roughly and sitting up.

Root grinned, Shaw’s phone in her hand.

‘Root,’ growled Shaw warningly, launching for the phone but Root was too quick, standing up and putting quick distance between herself and the bed. Shaw sat still under the covers.

‘Siri, what is my name?’

_You’re Sameen. That’s what you told me, anyway._

Root looked up, eyes glinting with child-like mirth.

‘Hello Sameen.’

‘Shaw,’ she growled in correction, low and menacing.

Root tilted her head before apparently making a decision and walking away.

‘Give me back my phone Root.’

‘It’s over here if you want it,’ she called over her shoulder, laughter evident in her voice as she walked away.

Shaw audibly growled before once again getting out of bed and following the woman.

‘Where the fuck are we going?’

‘To have some fun.’

‘Give me my phone.’

Root ignored her, leading the way confidently through the maze and Shaw had to hand it to her: her powers of navigation were incredible. As were the legs. But Shaw wasn’t thinking about those as she followed a few paces behind.

Root stopped abruptly and grinned, spinning around on the sole of her boot.

‘Hold this,’ Root shoved her own phone into her outstretched hand and Shaw blinked, raising an eyebrow but Root was distracted, reaching inside the display to find what she was looking for.

Shaw, curious, waited to see what she was doing. Eventually Root turned around; in her hands were two packets of darts held up by her face.

‘Target practice,’ she declared, confidently striding off to their next destination.

Shaw couldn’t help the slight smirk. Okay, she’d bite. For now.

Root led her to the dreaded modern art canvas section.

‘Pick your target.’

Shaw raised an eyebrow but Root’s enthusiasm was almost infectious as she launched herself around the store with those long gangly limbs, hair bouncing as she reached for a New York City skyline.

‘You have something against New York?’ asked Shaw, noting her choice.

Root shrugged.

‘Skylines. Always the same: every good city needs a good demolishing now and then don’t you think?’

Shaw looked at her a little while longer before resuming her own search until she found what she was looking for.

‘Ah the dreaded Warhol Monroe. Good choice,’ remarked Root , who was standing very, very close to Shaw’s ear. Too close.

Shaw pushed her off harshly, creating distance as she went to set up the targets Root watching her back.

The event started casually enough but was beginning to bore Shaw, until Root suggested they play a game of ‘who could smash the porcelain with the smallest number of darts’ which led to an excursion to the crockery section and a lot of smashed china.

The two woman stood in the midst of what looked like a very specifically targeting earthquake, pieces of coloured crockery on the floor beneath their feet: it hadn’t taken long for it simply to devolve into hurling plates at one another from behind displays.

Paintball was for amateurs.

‘I won.’

Root raised an eyebrow.

‘I hit you with the mug.’

‘I hit you with the projectile fork,’ countered Shaw, smug.

Root grinned.

‘I knew we’d have fun.’

Shaw scowled.

‘You’re still a pain in the ass.’

‘I try,’ shot back Root, already walking off.

‘Where are you going now?’

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ called Root and how did Root know?

Shaw grumbled under her breath but followed anyway to the exit of the store and the nearby vending machines.

‘We could just break out,’ remarked Root as she fished out some coins.

‘And get done for breaking and entering?’

‘Didn’t peg you for the law abiding citizen.’

‘I like my freedom.’

Root shrugged, reaching down for her green Gatorade and five snack bars. Shaw raised an eyebrow but Root smiled, handing four to her.

‘My treat,’ said Root by way of explanation before she hopped up onto one of the tills and opened her own snack, nibbling at it.

Shaw wasn’t about to question, tearing open the wrapper and digging in, devouring her own bars in record time.

‘So how did you get stuck?’

‘I got locked in.’

‘On purpose?’

Shaw shot her a look.

‘We’re not all like you.’

‘I didn’t…’

Shaw raised an eyebrow and Root pretended to think about it, looking playfully sheepish and utterly unapologetic.

Root finished her bar and jumped back down from the till, walking over to Shaw.

‘I had fun tonight Sameen,’ she drawled, reaching into her pocket for a pen and grabbing Shaw’s free hand, ‘call me if you want to do this again some time.’

Shaw wrestled against the hold before submitting, allowing the ticklish scratch of biro against her skin as Root wrote her number. The moment she was finished Shaw tore herself away.

‘Not likely,’ she growled.

Root smirked.

‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ she said, already walking away, ‘goodbye Sameen.’

Shaw watched her walk into the store and down into the maze only briefly questioning how Root was going to contact her.

She blinked a few times, wondering whether that had actually happened and looked down at her hand, scowling at the number she found there with a neat little kiss underneath.

She scowled.

‘What the fuck?’


	13. Relight My Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon propt: Psst psst “i’m a firefighter and you started a fire in your kitchen but you’re still flirting with me even though you’re not wearing pants and im carrying you down a ladder as you compliment me on my muscles ” shoot AU would be the bomb :p
> 
> Of course Root would attempt to communicate through advanced smoke signal.

The smoke billowed from the building seeping through closed windows. Shaw looked up.

‘Is there anyone up there?’

‘Reports of a trapped homeowner,’ replied her partner Cole.

‘Set up the ladder.’

Cole didn’t argue. It was useless trying to convince her not to go head first into a burning building: Shaw would do what she wanted, when she wanted to. But she was a good firefighter: efficient, saved more lives than anyone else and seemingly had no concept of fear as she ran headfirst into burning flames without a second thought. It was oddly selfless, considering her self-professed self-interest.

Still, Cole watched as she skilfully pulled herself up the ladder, jacket billowing loose in the wind. Completely impractical, terribly dangerous but, Shaw complained, it was hot and it would only be hotter in the smoke filled room.

Reaching the window Shaw pushed up the frame, prying the old, chipping wood up with little difficulty. She hopped in with surprising grace.

‘Anyone here?’ she called, eyes blocked by smoke.

She knew she didn’t have long before this became an issue. Her eyes scanned the room as best she could, noting the dangerous orange flame that seemed concentrated in the kitchen area. She mentally sighed: another idiot setting fire to a kitchen. Great. Just great.

Shaw looked away, running through the open doorway and into what seemed to be a bedroom.

‘Anyone here?’ She called again, covering her mouth slightly with her sleeve.

‘Are you here to save me?’

Shaw looked to the window. A tall woman stood completely unfazed by the inferno, half dressed in a t-shirt far too big, bare legs evident even in the hazy smoke. Shaw glared.

Root.

‘Come on,’ she demanded, reaching and grabbing for the woman’s wrist and pulling her towards the exit route.

Root looked delighted.

‘Lovely to see you again Sameen,’ she cooed. Shaw didn't dwell on their last 5 meetings, all in similar circumstances. How many apartments to burn could one woman have?

‘Get down the ladder,’ choked out Shaw.

‘Unfortunately I’m feeling a little dizzy,’ she protests, choking against the smoke about as convincing as…she wasn’t very convincing.

Shaw shook her head.

‘Come here,’ Shaw gave no more warning, not wanting to risk her life anymore for this clearly idiotic woman as she hauled her over her shoulder.

Root grinned, not that Shaw could see it. But she could feel it. She ignored it, moving to slowly descend the ladder.

‘You’re very strong,’ complimented Root.

Shaw ignored her, concentrating on the task at hand and very much not paying attention to the long legs waving slightly in her peripheral vision.

‘Do you work out?’ Shaw ground her jaw at the flirtatious tone, seriously contemplating dropping the woman when she felt fingers tug at her clothing.

‘You have a lovely body,’ offered the woman, ‘you should take off your jacket.’

Shaw finally sets her down on the ground none too gently, shirt riding up just enough to reveal the edge of the woman’s underwear: Shaw got the sense she should be thankful she was wearing any in the first place.

‘Next time don’t set your kitchen on fire.’

Root pouted.

‘But then how will I reach you?’

Shaw glared.

‘A fucking telephone Root.’

Root beamed.

‘Are you saying I can call you?’

‘No.’

‘Sam we got another call,’ yelled Cole as he ran over, coming to a stop next to her and throwing a knowing look at Root who simply smiled.

‘At least we know it’s not her,’ muttered Shaw, turning to leave.

‘Wait,’ called Root, and to her frustration she does.

Root took ahold of her wrist, pulling up her jacket sleeve and holding a free hand out for a pen. Cole-the _traitor_ , thinks Shaw promising to enact revenge- provides one and Root scribbles on her wrist. When she’s done Shaw pulls her wrist away harshly and Root chuckles, tossing the pen back to Cole.

‘Bye Sameen,’ she called dotingly as Shaw stalks off, Cole in tow.

It doesn’t take long for Shaw to glance down at her wrist.

_7pm. Favourite steakhouse, table at the back._

_Lose the jacket._

_x_


	14. Friendship is Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Hi there! I love your writing, your fics are great! Could you do one where Root and Shaw are married and have a daughter please? Write whatever you want, I just want some domestic and family fluff please! Thanks!
> 
> Not entirely sure this is what you wanted but I did have fun imagining Root playing My Little Pony. So have fun with that image.

‘No.’

‘Ms. Groves if you would just-’

‘No.’

Finch sighed.

‘Please Ms. Groves, we need someone to-’

‘And that someone is not me.’

‘You and Ms. Shaw are-’

‘Or Shaw’s,’ Root smiled at the thought, ‘do you really think she’s going to be any more willing than me?’

Finch looked away, shifting slightly in his seat and clearing his throat. 

‘Yes. Well...I came to you first Ms. Groves and was hoping that you would-’

She raised an eyebrow. 

‘Really Harry? Not only do you want me to take care of...it, you want me to try and convince my wife it’s a good idea.’

‘If anyone can do it, it would be you Ms. Groves.’

‘The answer’s still no.’

Finch sighed.

‘If I could ask anyone else I would but she needs a guardian, and you and Ms. Shaw are the only ones available.’

‘I’m sure you and John can handle it: you’ve done it before,’ waved off Root. 

‘Mr. Reese is otherwise engaged.’

‘As lovely as the thought of happy families is, I think we might be just as busy as John and our home is hardly child friendly.’

‘As I said: if I could ask anyone else...’ 

Root sighed.

‘I’ll see what I can do. But she’s not going to like this. And neither do I.’

‘Thank you Ms. Groves. Just for a few days.’

 

* * *

 ‘Root.’

Shaw surveyed what used to be the hardwood floor of their sometimes-shared apartment, but now seemed to resemble the stock list of Toys R Us. And last time she checked neither of them owned- Shaw bent down to pick it up, holding the toy arms length away- what seemed to be My Little Pony. Fluttershy, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Root’s head popped up from in front of the sofa. Shaw had seen Root be many things: angry, furious, determined but as Root looked at her now her eyes conveyed only despair and a little bit of ‘please help.’

Shaw raised an eyebrow, indicating to the plastic horse in her hand and Root sighed.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Rooooooooooot,’ whined a high-pitched voice out of Shaw’s sight, ‘it’s your turn!’

‘Root,’ warned Shaw, ‘tell me you didn’t.’

‘It was Harry Sameen. Just for a few days-‘

A small head popped up next to Root’s, face in full pout hair in what anyone else would call adorable little pigtails.

‘Root its your turn the knight is-‘ the girl finally noticed where Root was staring and her eyes honed in on Shaw, ‘who are you?’

‘Root. We’re not doing this.’

‘We don’t have a choice: John and Harry are busy and she needs protecting. Just until they find out who’s trying to kill her.’

‘Someone’s trying to kill me?’

Root gazed over at the young girl.

‘Uh…yes. But not for long.’

The girl thought then looked over at Shaw, raising a finger to point.

‘Is she trying to kill me?’

Root suppressed a smile.

‘I don’t know: Sameen, are you going to kill her?’

Shaw glared at Root, grinding her jaw.

‘I’m going to help John,’ she declared, chucking the pony in Root’s direction, turning on her heel and heading for the exit.

Root caught the horse and, realizing what was happening, scrambled up, haphazardly tossing the horse back to the girl beside her. She pulled Shaw around to face her before she reached the door, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her close. Shaw’s eyes shot daggers.

‘You are not leaving me,’ hissed Root.

‘You got yourself into this.’

‘Us into this Sameen.’

‘I’m not-‘

‘And you’re not leaving me with the small child. I can’t look after it. It’s exhausting.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have agreed.’

Root glared.

Shaw glared right back but soon looked away, sighing dramatically.

‘Root,’ her voice was low, ‘we are not parents.’

‘Don’t you think I know that,’ hissed Root, words coming out slightly faster than usual, ‘at least if there’s two of us there’s less chance of her finding the grenades.’

‘Where are the grenades?’

‘In her room.’

‘Root!’

‘Where else was I meant to put them?’

‘The fridge?’

‘So the 6 year old can wake up, get some milk for cereal and instead find enough explosives to fell a small tower block? How is that any better?’

Shaw shook her head.

‘Fine. I’ll put the grenades in our room and any other lethal weaponry. You...go and play princess.’

‘Why do I-‘

‘Because you got us into this.’

The two glared at each other some more before Root finally released her collar, creating some distance.

‘What’s her name anyway?’

Root tilted her head slightly, shoulders shrugging and the suddenly sheepish expression never meant anything good.

‘Samantha.’

Shaw’s eyes widened clearly placing fault with Root.

‘Don’t look like that I didn’t name her.’

Shaw’s expression melted into a scowl.

‘Rooooooottttt come be Fluttershy!’

‘Yeah Root. Go and be Fluttershy,’ echoed Shaw and Root shot her a look before plastering on an enthusiastic smile.

 

* * *

 ‘Root. Root. Root. Root, can I ask you a question?’

Root sighed, trying to ignore the irritating child as she tried to make dinner, though it was proving increasingly difficult with a child attached to her leg as she followed her around.

‘Yes what is it?’

She was trying to be cheerful, really she was.

‘Why is the other one so grumpy?’

Root looked down at the blonde haired girl for just a second, eyebrow raised as she struggled to contain an amused smirk.

‘That’s just how she is. She likes you really.’

The girl pouted.

‘Well I don’t like her.’

‘Good ‘cause I don’t like you either kid,’ growled Shaw, walking into the kitchen.

‘Did you get them all?’

‘Even the ones in the bathroom.’

Root nodded once before trying to return to dinner. Unfortunately with the arrival of Shaw, Samantha had decided to bury herself further between Root’s legs.

Shaw watched passively as Root tripped over her small frame.

‘Shi-ttake mushrooms,’ grit out Root and Shaw raised an amused eyebrow, ‘please don’t do that Samantha,’ chided Root non-too lightly. The girl seemed to hide deeper between her legs and Root looked pleadingly up at Shaw.

Shaw shrugged.

‘Can She order takeout?’

Root sighed, tilting her head as she got a response.

‘It’s on it’s way. Chinese,’ Root looked down at the girl between her legs, ‘you like Chinese food?’

The girl looked up with big blue eyes, nodding enthusiastically.

‘Great,’ Root tossed aside her wooden spoon and headed for the couch not bothering to clean up.

Shaw watched but said nothing, clearing up the kitchen as the small girl followed Root like a puppy.

 

* * *

 

‘Can you go to sleep now?’

The girl tried a glare: She was good Shaw would give her that.

‘Why isn’t Root reading to me?’

‘Because Root is busy.’

‘I don’t like you.’

‘I don’t like you either.’

The two glared.

‘Read the one about the fairy,’ demanded the girl reluctantly, arms crossed.

‘This is the last one.’

‘You said that three times now.’

‘Yeah well you won’t go to sleep.’

‘You’re not very soothing.’

Shaw couldn’t really argue with that.

‘Fine. Once upon a time there was-‘

‘You’re not even trying.’

Shaw ground her jaw.

‘Do you want the story or not?’

The girl nodded.

‘Then shut up and listen. Once upon a time there was a little girl-‘

‘Called Samantha.’

Shaw blinked.

‘Fine. Called Samantha, who lived in the tallest tower-’

‘You have to say it like ‘tallllleesssst tower’ not ‘tallest tower’. Why are you so grumpy?’

Shaw rolled her eyes.

‘She’s trying her best sweetie.’

Shaw’s head snapped round to the voice leaning against the doorway and immediately the child brightened.

‘Root!’

Shaw looked away.

‘Apparently I’m not good at reading stories,’ she grumbled bitterly as Root gently prized the book from her hand chuckling.

‘I’ve got this one.’

Shaw looked at her, searching her eyes. Finding what she needed, she nodded once, standing up and leaving as Root took her place on the edge of the bed.

‘Now which story did you want?’

‘The fairy one.’

‘With the girl in the castle?’

‘Yeah! Shaw isn’t very good at reading them, she’s all: _‘once upon a time,’_ imitated the girl in a low tone and a very grumpy face.

Root’s eyes lit up in amusement.

‘She’s trying. She’s not really very good at this sort of thing.’

‘She’s always so grumpy.’

‘That’s just the way she is.’

‘You live with her.’

‘I do.’

‘How? She’s sooooo grumpy.’

Root chuckled.

‘Not all the time.’

‘She is when I’m here.’

‘We’ve only known you half a day,’ soothed Root.

The girls face dropped, watching her fingers play with the edge of the white duvet.

‘When can I go?’

Root smiled softly.

‘Soon. When it’s safe.’

The girl looked at Root and nodded.

‘Okay.’

She slid down under the covers and rested her head on the pillow.

‘I don’t really need the story.’

Root looked a little surprised but nodded.

‘Do you need anything else?’

‘Nope.’

‘All right,’ Root stood up, placing the book on the floor and heading for the door.

‘If you need anything wake us up.’

‘G’night.’

Root didn’t reply immediately, looking back at the sleeping form of the girl.

‘Goodnight.’

 

* * *

 

Shaw wordlessly handed Root a beer as she came to sit on the sofa beside her.

‘She asleep?’

Root nodded and Shaw let out a deep sigh.

‘Thanks.’

Root looked at her in surprise.

‘For what?’

‘Taking care of the kid.’

‘You helped.’

Shaw looked at her but said nothing.

‘You ever want kids?’ she asked, taking a swig of her beer.

‘Do you?’

Shaw thought.

‘No.’

Root chuckled lightly.

‘Yeah, me either.’

‘When can she go?’

Root hummed, resting her head slightly on Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw didn’t move, but she didn’t tense like she used to and Root rested comfortably.

‘John’s dealing with the shooter now. She should be free to go in the morning.’

Shaw grunted in acknowledgement.

‘Back to her family?’

‘There’s a relative in Iowa. Harold’s contacting them now.’

Shaw nodded.

‘Next time Finch asks you to take care of a kid…’

Root laughed, shifting deeper into the warmth of Shaw’s body, eyes gazing up with devotion.

‘I think Harold would make a great Applejack.’

Shaw smirked.

‘I thought he was more of a Spike.’

Root laughed soft and light as Shaw took another swig of her beer, relaxing into Root’s body.


	15. Confinement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from ackerattack: shoot au prompt from the post “we live in the same building and we don’t really know each other but the elevator we ride together everyday just broke down so now we’re stuck in it and it turns out you’re really claustrophobic”
> 
> Sorry this took so long I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I enjoyed writing this. Right up until tumblr deleted it and I had to rewrite it from memory. It's missing somethings, but I hope it's still enjoyable!

‘What’s your name?’

The woman shifted on her feet but said nothing, eyes fixed ahead.

Shaw sighed. She sat in the back corner of the elevator legs bent as her head rested against the metal paneling that encased them. The elevator has become stuck at the second floor doors refusing to open, and the two women, heretofore strangers, were now trapped.

The standing woman shifted her eyes around the relatively small box. Tiny bow, really. Encroaching. Suffocating. A slow, agonizing-

‘You’re going to pass out.’

The woman’s head snapped to Shaw. She was composed enough but Shaw noted the way her fists clenched, the way her controlled breath came heavy and hard. Shaw met wide eyes with hard brown, watching the panic form in what could only be described as delicate urgency.

‘Sit down.’

Her voice wasn’t harsh but carried a command in the tone. The woman raised an eyebrow and Shaw met it with an even glare. Eventually the woman seemed to swallow her pride and walked over, sliding down the wall and sitting next to Shaw.

Shaw watched, pleased when her breathing seemed to slow and deepen, watching from the corner of her eye as Root twisted her hands together. Soft, delicate hands that had never seen a days work in their life, mused Shaw.

‘Is this meant to help?’

Her voice was surprisingly light considering the tension radiating from her body.

‘Is it?’

‘Not really.’

‘Close your eyes then.’

The woman looked at her.

‘Are you a doctor?’

Shaw shrugged.

‘Sort of.’

The woman studied Shaw and she resisted the urge to squirm.

‘Root. My name is Root.’

‘Shaw.’

Root nodded.

‘So Shaw: do you live here?’

Shaw suppressed a groan: she never should have said a word.

‘Yes.’

Polite Sameen. Be polite.

Root seemed to pick up on her reluctance.

‘Talking helps,’ Shaw turned to look at her, eyebrow raised, ‘it distracts me.’

Shaw looked away and said nothing.

‘How come I’ve never seen you here before?’

‘How come I’ve never seen you here before?’ shot back Shaw and Root smirked, ‘do you live here?’

Root pondered the question.

‘Sort of.’

‘How can you ‘sort of’ live here?’

‘How can you ‘sort of’ be a doctor?’

Shaw grunted in consent.

‘In training. Med School.’ Root looked at her, suitably impressed, ‘and you? How can you ‘sort of’ live here?’

Root shrugged.

‘I have other places.’

‘Rich then.’

Root raised an eyebrow at the quick assumption.

‘It’s rude to talk about money.’

‘We’ve been trapped in an elevator for half and hour and you’re worried about social niceties?’

‘One should always be polite.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘You’re right,’ conceded Root, ‘though it’s my money. Not inherited. My family wasn't...’ she seemed to change her mind about something, shrugging slightly, 'mine alone.' 

Shaw studied her, possibilities rushing through her head as she questioned precisely how a woman in, she would guess, her early twenties managed to accrue enough to buy multiple apartments in New York of all places. And presumably others. Not that it bothered Shaw enough to be interesting.

‘Why here?’

Okay so she was a little curious.

‘You mean instead of a grand place over looking Central Park? Too conspicuous. I like it here. It has…’

‘If you say character it won’t be your claustrophobia you’ll be worried about,’ warned Shaw and Root chuckled.

‘I’m not claustrophobic.’

Shaw gave her a look.

‘Really? And the dilated pupils, heavy breathing and sweaty palms are all just coincidence.’

‘Maybe I see something that I like.’

Shaw wasn’t one to miss the obvious flirtation in her tone and found herself scowling. Why was she scowling? Root was hot and absolutely her type. Who was she to deny herself when the woman was practically offering herself up?

‘People usually buy me a drink first.’

‘You don’t strike me as the type to care.’

Shaw raised an eyebrow.

‘And what do I strike you as?’

Shaw watched the slow smirk form on Root’s lips.

‘I don’t know yet.’

The two locked eyes and Shaw found herself rushing to decipher everything she could but the truth seemed to run away from her like water, slipping through her grasp. Root was confident, like she held the upper hand despite the fact she clearly wasn’t comfortable with location. Shaw found that she liked that. A lot.

They were interrupted by the arrival of their rescuers as the doors were pried open and Shaw watched Root stand. The tension left her body and Shaw took note of a different sort of woman, addressing the men with courtesy but dismissal. Condescension. Like her time was the most precious thing in the world. If Shaw had been anyone else, she would have felt honoured to have been afforded such prolonged attention by the woman after seeing her brush off the workmen who saved her from certain death.

Shaw herself stood, brushing herself off and eager to push past the small gaggle of humans back to her apartment for a beer, but Root grabbed her arm as she passed. Shaw spun, glare in full force burning a hole in the hand on her bare skin.

‘What?’ she spat.

Root seemed unfazed.

‘Would you like a drink?’

Shaw raised her eyes, looking at her cautiously but not without an eager note.

‘Where?’

Root tilted her head.

‘My place.’

It was Shaw’s turn to smirk and she didn’t miss the way Root’s eyes lit up at the gesture, both firmly on the same page.

Root let go of her arm and brushed past, leading the way to her apartment.

‘It better be expensive,’ muttered Shaw, though if she were honest it would hardly matter in the end.

Root let her amusement seep into her voice.

‘Anything for you Sweetie.’


	16. Romance Isn't Dead, Just Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: root telling shaw 'i love you' for the first time

It was so terribly…Root wanted candles and romance. No. No she didn’t. She was happy without those- really she was- but she at least expected to be covered with a delicate sheen of sweat. Maybe tangled in sheets and limbs trailing patterns on dark skin, tracing over scars and scratches: some put there by her, others not.

As it happens that was not how events unfolded.

It was all to do with self-control. Root was usually very good at self-control. Boundaries. She knew when to stop, and the maintenance of boundaries as it was with Shaw took pinpoint precision. She knew when to push, to pull: to turn away, to drop a subject. She knew Shaw. She knew control. Despite what others said, she was very very disciplined.

Well. Mostly.

Root had images of hot passionate sex: grunts and pants and moans and maybe just a pained whimper as Root would lean back, denying Shaw what she wanted and…okay so Shaw never did that. Unfortunately, Shaw was a better being of control. In the bedroom at least. But Root wasn’t one to give up easily.

In any case: this is what she imagined. She wanted to make it poignant. She imagined them lying side by side and she would judge when Shaw was almost asleep before whispering close to her ear. Or maybe she’d just been shot and Shaw was doing that thing she did where she stood in front of her protectively whilst yelling at her for being an idiot. Root liked that. Maybe at that moment she would let slip words from her tongue that would inject Shaw like poison.

That was not what happened.

Shaw was opening a door.

A fairly innocuous door if she were honest. A car door. The door of a black sedan. She was undercover as a wealthy fashion designer and Shaw was her bodyguard/chauffeur and she was holding open the door of the car. Root slid one leg free of the confines of the car exposing pale flesh, and she didn’t miss the flicker of Shaw’s eyes as she pushed herself up to standing. Looking down at Shaw slightly in her heels she noted the stray strands of her fringe blowing in her face, the way her body was held graciously, almost in deference to Root. To her beauty. To what she was.

And Root lost focus for just a second. Because Root didn’t need candles and romance and dating, she never had, though she did like to indulge herself just a little, dragging Shaw along to a ‘stakeout’ in a fancy restaurant with definitely atmospheric lighting. But she didn’t need big romantic gestures, though they were nice. Shaw cleaned her guns for her-that was nice- was always particularly violent when a bullet came just a little too close to Root’s body- that was sweet- always kept to Root’s right-that was considerate- always held the door open for her- that was utterly charming- always made sure there was enough food for two- endearing- shared her meals-a privilege- never touched her things- respectful- complimented Root’s figure in the way her eyes roamed over her body at leisure without uttering a word- flattering- the reverent way her mouth explored her body even in their most rough encounters- revered- and she tried. She tried for Root. And only for Root. It was…romantic.

‘I love you.’

Root’s body tensed at the words. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing, staring into Shaw’s eyes as the cold wind buffeted them both thinking about all the ways Shaw cared for her, but she hadn’t expected that to slip out. Before Shaw had time to process Root was off, striding confidently into the building before them hoping the distraction of a mission would make Shaw forget her blunder. That’s not to say she didn’t mean those words-she meant them with all her heart and then some- but Shaw was deceptively fragile about these things and boundaries were something Root was good at and…she was rambling. Like a school girl.

Root shook her head slightly as she walked in an attempt to clear her thought.s. She was in control. She had this. This was Shaw: she knew how to play Shaw like a fiddle she could come back from this it would be fine and-

She started as Shaw’s gloved hand found it’s way to the small of her back, guiding her respectfully to the correct room for her meeting, holding open the glass door with her free arm. Root’s entire world had narrow to that singular point of contact. She relaxed into the touch.

She didn’t need to look at Shaw. She didn’t need words. She knew it was okay.

_I love you too._


	17. Why Do Bad Things Happen To Good People?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Shoot: "Don't blame me, how could I know how this thing got into your bathroom!!"

She just wanted to relax. It had been a long week of never ending numbers and she just wanted to relax. She had a steak fresh from the butchers in one bag, a case of beer in the other: she was going to have a nice bath, before sitting down and catching up on her favourite shows.

But things were never that simple.

She entered her apartment, knowing immediately someone else had entered before her and she had a sneaking suspicion who it was. She placed her shopping down on the kitchen counter before doing a sweep of her apartment, gun drawn.

Finding the main expanse free of intruders she lowered her weapon slightly, still on alert as she heading into her bathroom. Pushing open the door, she was faced with a sight she absolutely did not want to see.

Her bath was occupied. By an overweight, middle aged man. Naked. In her bath. Sweating. Sunken eyes darting in fear. Naked. In. Her. Bath. Her lovely bath.

At the fear in the man’s eyes she lowered her weapon slightly, growling in annoyance. Holstering her gun, she reached into her pocket and dialled an all too familiar number.

_‘Hello Sweetie. Are you checking up on me?’_

‘Root. Why is there a man tied up in my bathroom?’ Shaw’s voice was anything but conversational as her body thrummed with anger: she liked to think Root could feel her murderous intent through the phone line.

_‘Sameen,’_ Root’s voice was dangerously close to patronising and Shaw didn’t like that one bit, _‘don’t blame me. How could I possibly know how that thing got into your bathroom?’_

‘I don’t know Root, maybe because you’re the only person within a 25 mile radius I know who has a penchant for tying, gagging and drugging innocent victims,’ hissed Shaw, fist clenched at her side.

_‘What about John?’_

‘Root,’ growled Shaw, her patience very much non existent.

_‘Relax Sameen. I just needed to place to store him until I can pick him up tomorrow.’_

‘Tomorrow?! Root, get him out of my bath. Right now.’

Root hummed lightly, _‘I would love to but I’m a little preoccupied right now. Trouble in Denmark if you know what I mean.’_

‘I don’t care. Get him out. Now.’

_‘I’m afraid I can’t do that Sweetie.’_

‘Root.’

_‘Take good care of him for me: his name is Gregor. Lovely man. Maybe you two could get to know each other.’_

‘Root.’

_‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon Sameen.’_

‘Root don’t you dare-’ Shaw stopped as she heard the click of the line going dead.

She looked at the slightly overweight balding man and thought about sending him of to Lionel for the night, but decided that a bath no longer seemed appealing. She sighed, eyes full of fury as she struggled with the urge not to the kneecap the man out of sheer frustration. Instead she took a deep breath, studying the victim, face stoney and blank as Gregor shivered with terror.

‘You like steak?’


	18. Woman's Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from seekingoutfriday: Some time after Root and Shaw have been together and living together, they go shopping/adopting for a puppy.

Root walked beside Shaw as the entered the animal shelter. She had only agreed to this because Harold had made it explicitly clear that Shaw was not permitted to permanently adopt Bear, despite numerous protests and several sabotage attempts to the contrary.

Root tolerated this inevitable life choice because of Shaw. She knew Shaw wanted a dog- she loved dogs, sometimes even more than Root much to her chagrin- but would never outright ask for one. Her affection for Bear, however, was plain as day- plainer than her apparent reluctant affection for Root herself, much to the woman’s smouldering irritation- and Root didn’t want her to live without that.

Which is why she was now allowing herself to be dragged around this animal shelter, searching for the perfect puppy for one Sameen Shaw under a very flimsy pretence that this trip was entirely for her benefit. Which it wasn’t.

Root had no desire to care for a puppy. Puppies were hard work: energetic and enthusiastic. They demanded attention and smelt and shed fur all over your stuff and Root really wasn’t overly keen on the idea. Not that she minded dogs. She liked dogs.

She watched as Shaw bent down, fussing each animal with due attention and care as they swarmed around her. Root stood over her, watching with sharp eyes. Root liked dogs because Sameen liked dogs. And this she could do: she could give Sameen a dog. Even if she suspected Shaw might end up liking the dog more than her. It wasn’t like she could get jealous of a dog. That would be stupid. Obviously.

Still, she watched from a distance, waiting patiently as she heard Shaw mumble incoherently to the yelping litter of puppies in a soothing manor- a tone never used with Root herself, she might add- hoping to find the one for them.

Root felt a nudge at her leg, pressure on her left boot, and looked down, watching as a small black puppy clambered its way onto the front of her boot. She felt through the leather of her shoe as the tiny padded paws tested the surface, before the animal sat, half falling off her foot, looking up expectantly. Root tilted her head. The puppy did also, watching with bright blue eyes as Root studied it.

‘This one.’

Shaw turned to look at her, hands still occupied with the balls of fluff that surrounded her petting each one as her eyes fell to the tiny ball of fur resting on Root’s foot. Shaw stood up, walking the short distance before again falling eye-level with the puppy studying it as she had the others. It regarded her with intelligent eyes, watching as Shaw stroked, pushing back into the touch obviously enjoying itself. It was of average size: mostly black with a white patch on it’s chest. Keen features and sharp eyes. Alert. Loyal.

Shaw looked up at Root and nodded once, standing up.

‘This one.’

It was Root, not Shaw, that bent over to pick up the dog and carry it out.

After the necessary checks were made and gender established they were on their way quickly enough. Despite Root’s earlier declarations of no dogs in the front of the car, the puppy sat dozing on her lap.

‘We’ll have to pick up supplies,’ reminded Shaw, breaking the silence.

Root hummed lightly in agreement. ‘What shall we call him?’

Silence fell as Shaw thought.

‘Dog.’

Root chuckled.

‘We are not calling our dog ‘Dog’ Sameen.’

Shaw huffed in annoyance. ‘Then what do you suggest?’

‘Jack.’

‘Jack?’

‘Jack.’

‘Why Jack?’

Root shrugged. ‘I like the name.’

Shaw thought about it.

‘Jack the Ripper. I like it.’

Root laughed loudly, expecting nothing less from Shaw, and Shaw liked the way it tingled her ears. The puppy-Jack- stirred at the sound, burrowing further into Root’s lap as he readjusted himself, Root gazing down with something almost like affection.

Shaw let a smug smirk tug at her lips. She knew Root wanted a dog.


	19. Do Androids Dream Of Sheep If They Don't Dream Of Electric Ones?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: idk if you're still taking prompts but: either root or shaw is high on pain meds, the other is having to take care of them but can't stop laughing at all the ridiculous things they're saying

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying Root.’

‘You have to be lying.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But you have to be!’

‘Well I’m not. Get into bed.’

Root turned around to face Shaw, wiggling her eyebrows in a very unseductive manner, ‘all you had to do was ask Sweetie.’

Shaw sighed. She didn’t sign up for this. This was not in her employment contract: dealing with Root high on… something. The doctor who treated her wound had been very unspecific. Shaw frowned at the thought. This is why she insisted Root come to her, not some useless idiot who clearly didn’t know the different between a syringe and a scalpel. And now Shaw was stuck trying to reason with an unreasonable woman at the best of times.

‘In. Now.’

Root frowned. ‘No.’

Shaw rolled her eyes, watching as Root quickly lost interest in her and instead headed for the bathroom, inspecting the white surfaces with interest.

‘What is toothpaste made of?’ Root spun on her heel, holding a tube of it directly in front of Shaw’s face. She batted it away.

‘Fluorine. In bed Root. Now.’

Root studied the tube, ‘No fluorine is in toothpaste that’s not what it’s made of.’

Root began pulling off the lid and squeezing the tube experimentally, watching as the white gloop fell onto her hand. Shaw quickly intervened, snatching the offending object out of Root’s grasp, placing it a good distance away before guiding the woman to the sink and putting her hands under the water.

‘Thank you Sameen.’

Shaw grunted in response, too focused on cleaning Root’s hands to notice the woman pulling faces in the mirror.

‘I can wink. Look!’ Root tugged at Shaw’s hair, earning her an irritated growl. Shaw knew full well Root couldn’t wink but she indulged, watching as the woman tried to wink in the mirror. ‘See?’ Root looked very pleased with herself, ‘you were lying.’

‘That wasn’t a wink Root. You blinked.’

Root pouted.

‘Did not.’

‘Yes. You did.’ Shaw took a step back, drying off her own hands before chucking the hand towel in Root’s face, that Root deftly caught, ‘dry your hands and get into bed.’

Root tilted her head down at the towel rubbing experimentally before deciding to place it on her head, towel covering her eyes.

Shaw audibly sighed.

_‘Having fun Shaw?’_

‘Shut up John,’ growled Shaw through gritted teeth.

‘Oooooooooooo,’ called Root, clearly pleased with herself as she decided she liked being a ghost, forcing Shaw to bat away roaming hands and back up into the bedroom, Root following her.

‘How much did she have?’

_‘Finch said it should be gone by morning. You okay to handle that?’_

Shaw scowled, not that he could see it, but his laughter did not go unnoticed as Shaw let out a grunt and a clipped ‘Root’ as she was almost backed into the closet.

‘Fine John. Don’t you have a puppy to save?’ John chuckled lightly but Shaw didn’t give him a chance to answer, cutting off coms as she tried to lead ghost-Root to the bed.

‘Sameen,’ whined the woman, ‘just let me catch you.’

Shaw sighed at the indignity of it all.

‘I’m over here,’ she called in a deadpan tone, standing with her back to the bed. Root turned to the voice, wide smile on her face and began advancing, hands out in front of her as she tried to feel where she was.

‘You could take off the towel.’

‘I’m a ghost,’ replied Root, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, ‘I need my towel.’

Shaw decided not to argue, thought might have regretted that decision as Root’s hands began to roam over her clothed form, feeling out where she stood. Shaw didn’t move as hands all but caressed her face, feeling her cheeks and hair and eyes and it took all of Shaw’s strength not to pull away. Root’s smile softened.

‘You have nice skin.’

Shaw coughed awkwardly. ‘Thanks.’

Before she could get into anymore trouble with the woman, Shaw grabbed her by the waist, spun around and all but threw her onto the bed. Root giggled, happy to roll around on the covers.

‘That was fun! Again!’

‘No.’ Shaw leant over, yanking the towel from Root’s head and chucking it aimlessly to the side, ‘get under the covers.’

This time Root complied, army crawling up the bed before rolling over and looking down at her still-booted feet. Shaw sighed before obliging, taking off her boots.

‘Thank you Sameen.’

‘Good. Now get into bed.’

‘Yes Ma’am!’ Root managed to get under the covers all by herself, pulling them up by her chin looking with wide expectant eyes at Shaw who stood looming over the bed.

‘Now go to sleep.’

Root’s eyes flickered around the room.

‘But I’m not tired.’

‘I don’t care. Go to sleep.’

Root pouted.

‘Will you still be here when I open my eyes again?’

Shaw sighed.

‘Yes. Now go to sleep.’

Root beamed, nodding enthusiastically before shuffling down under the covers and letting her head hit the pillow, looking over at Shaw. She yawned loudly.

‘G’night Sameen.’

Shaw didn’t reply immediately, watching as Root’s breath evened out signifying sleep.

‘Goodnight Root.’


	20. Why Didn't They Both Hold On?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: root breaks into shaw apartment while she's making dinner. a sad film is playing in the background. shaw is cutting onions. roots teasing about shaw crying at the film ensues
> 
> wow has it been a long time or WHAT? This is me trying to get back into the swing of things slightly so it's probably not my best, and I'm not entirely happy with it but we'll see. Also sorry anon this took SO LONG. 
> 
> The film was going to be The Notebook but i've never SEEN The Notebook and I hate Titanic so...oh, and credits to Beautiful Creatures for articulating a huge issue of mine with the film with the plank of wood thing. Credit is where Credit is due!

Root was used to the unexpected. The unexpected tended to be expected in her line of work, even with The Machine chirping away in her ear. She liked to make sure Root was on the ball, mentally challenged. Ready for anything. So Root was good with the unexpected. Adaptable.

This she was less prepared for.

On her list of ‘Top Ten Things Impossible To Occur In This Universe’ (if she were to even have such a list. A newly created list. The theoretical list in her head) Sameen Shaw crying during Titanic was definitely on there. So when Root let herself into Shaw’s (read: their, Shaw just didn’t know it yet) apartment and saw this very scene, it took a moment to process.

Observation One: Shaw was crying. Highly improbably, not entirely unlikely. Root could see the red eyes as Shaw cooked what she assumed was dinner, acknowledging Root’s entrance with a curt nod. Root hoped her surprise was masked effectively, though Shaw was so thoroughly engrossed in her cooking she doubted Shaw would have noticed her mute state anyway.

Observation Two: The hi-def plasma TV was on. Shaw didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it, perhaps the reason why Titanic had unceremoniously made its way onto their TV screen, now blaring its presence in the apartment.

Observation Three: The discarded remains of onion peel, littered in flakes across the countertop where Shaw was working as she diced what Root presumed were onions.

Conclusion: Shaw was clearly crying because Titanic was so emotionally moving, breaking down her concrete barriers as she embraced new emotion and had absolutely nothing to do with the large quantities of onion that were being prepared.

The grin that tugged at her mouth was let free as Root stepped forward into the open plan room, boots clicking on the wooden floor. She came to stand at the end of the kitchen counter, eyes firmly fixed on Shaw’s movements.

‘What’s for dinner Sweetie?’ she hummed lightly.

‘Wait,’ replied Shaw gruffly, and Root beamed. She had learned that Sameen was very protective over her cooking, and passionate about it in her own way.

Root dragged her fingers across the cold stone counter as she brought herself next to Shaw as she finely chopped tomatoes at high speed, very much resting in Shaw’s personal space. Shaw ignored her, scowling as Root dropped a chaste peck on her cheek in thanks. If she diced just a little harder, Root pretended not to notice.

‘Are you crying Sameen?’ Root’s face remained close to Shaw’s as she studied the slightly damp track patterns down the others face, the slightly red eyes and the slight salty taste on her lips.

‘No,’ shot Shaw.

‘Are you...crying at Titanic?’ Shaw scowled but continued unperturbed. She could deal with Root like this, she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction not when she could feel the mirth radiating from the woman like toxic gas.

‘Oh Sameen, if I had known you had such a soft spot for this film-’

‘I don’t.’ In fact, Shaw hated the film. It was boring, unnecessarily long and-

‘You’ve seen it before?’ Root filled her voice with the appropriate amount of fake surprise: just enough to annoy, to tip Shaw off she knew exactly what she was doing. ‘No.’ But Root wasn’t listening.

‘Don’t you just love when Jack and Rose fall in love? When he teaches her that the there is more to her small, insignificant life and proceeds to die to save her because the ship hits an iceberg oh Sameen it’s so _romantic_.’

Shaw let the silence linger.

‘You haven’t seen it have you?’

Root blinked. ‘What makes you say that?’

Shaw didn’t reply, raising an eyebrow as she turned to add her ingredients into a pan. ‘You should watch it.’

Root blinked again, before regaining herself. ‘Would you recommend it Sweetie?’ Root couldn’t keep the curiosity from her voice, or the knowledge that Shaw had effectively turned the tables. She was almost proud.

Shaw shrugged. ‘It was shit.’ Root didn’t reply, watching as Shaw dumped her chopping board and knife into the sink before giving her full attention to the pan. ‘You should watch it.’ Root’s silence did nothing to deter Shaw, though she did an excellent job of keeping her amusement out of her voice. ‘You have time.’

Shaw listened with satisfaction at the silence, punctuated by the sound of Root’s boots hitting the floor as she walked away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Root shifted under the covers beside her, leg protruding from the thin, rumpled white sheets, a glean of sweat covering them both. Shaw could hear Root’s brain working, feel it in the air between them, but made a very conscious decision to ignore it, head firmly on her pillow. Root looked over at Shaw, seeing the woman eyes closed, her dark hair scattered on the pillow behind her, falling against her face and Root knew she wasn’t asleep.

‘Sameen.’ Shaw didn’t move. Didn’t give any indication she had heard. Root continued. ‘Why didn’t they share the plank of wood? You hold on for a minute, I hold on for a minute. They would have both survived, provided they spent as little time in the water as possible and were both rescued.’

Shaw cracked open an eye, looking at Root’s profile as she stared at the ceiling. ‘A 38% increase in chances of survival,’ muttered Root, almost to herself.

Shaw decided not to comment on the fact that Root was using the precious power an all-seeing super computer designed to protect all of humanity to indulge her personal whims and correctly calculate greater means of survival for two very fictional characters.

‘Told you,’ grunted Shaw as she pulled the sheets closer around her.

Root’s head tilted to look at her. ‘What?’

‘It’s shit.’ Root returned to gazing at the white ceiling and Shaw sighed. ‘Go to sleep Root.’ Root hummed lightly in response but clearly had no intention of sleeping soon. ‘Stop trying to analyse a shitty movie Root and go to sleep.’

‘How many times have you seen it?’

‘Too many,’ grunted Shaw. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘What did you think about-’ Shaw pulled the pillow from under her head and chucked it at Root, smothering the other woman’s face before turning away from Root and laying back down on her one remaining pillow. ‘Go the fuck to sleep Root.’

Root slowly pulled away the pillow and if Shaw had bothered to look she would have found the woman grinning as she gently set down the pillow on the floor beside the bed.

‘I love your way with words,’ she hummed as she finally settled down, inching ever so slightly closer to Shaw than strictly necessary.

Shaw said nothing, content in pretending to be firmly asleep.


	21. Curiosity Never Had A Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt: Shaw is curious. 
> 
> Found this lurking about in my prompt folder: from an anon of old. I suspect the reason I didn't answer it when it arrived all those months ago was a lack of inspiration, as with all my writing at the time. 
> 
> The prompt is frustratingly vague (I love it), but I do have a bit of a thing for the Machine and Her use of Root, as anyone who knows me knows (let's not talk about That Time I Wrote The Machine For A Fic And Swore Never Ever Again Because It Half Killed Me), and I always jump at the excuse...
> 
> So here it is. A short(ish) drabble. Long, long overdue. Sorry.

‘What’s it like?’

Shaw’s eyes were fixed on the road, engine revving beneath her. It would start low and rumbly - they were going so fast it seemed to Root as if the car was vibrating - and would crescendo to a thrumming whine, stuck in place, before Shaw would violently shift gears and it would begin again, low and rumbly in her ears.

‘What’s what like?’

It was late. The road was winding and narrow and bordered on either side by dense forest: it was empty, mercifully, as Shaw took the corners with as much G-Force as a small fighter jet, engine growling and whining in harmony with Shaw as she attacked the gear shift.

They were taking the less-well-known back roads away from the site of their last mission. Things had gone smoothly, right up until the point Shaw (Root) had made a rookie error, tipping off the security team guarding the pharmaceutical company’s head office. At the instruction of the Machine, Shaw had borrowed the rather nice black Lamborghini Aventador LPC700-4 of a certain executive, and the two were now fleeing from a trail of black SUV and sedan-type vehicles that, Shaw noted grimly, still seemed to be following them despite her furious pace.

In response to Root’s question about her question, Shaw tilted her head, indicating as best she could with two occupied hands to Root’s ear.

‘That thing.’

Root pulled her attention from the small patch of pitch-black road ahead of them that was illuminated by frankly appalling headlights. Shaw’s field of vision was severely restricted, but she seemed completely unbothered by the fact – both reckless and confident enough in her own abilities to trust she could do this and make the turns. Root couldn’t help out: in the country roads that wound around urban areas, She didn’t have any field of view. Root never doubted for one second Shaw wouldn’t get them out safely.

Looking at Shaw - her eyes fixed on the road, occasionally glancing in the rear-view mirror to check the position of their pursuers - Root knew what she was referring to. It was a bit out of the blue. Root thought to comment as much, to feign ignorance, but something about the question told her not to: the sincerity in it. Shaw was always sincere when she asked these sorts of things; when she meant it.

‘Overwhelming.’

Shaw could feel Root’s gaze. Really distracting. Like that thing where you do something right the whole time, and then when someone starts watching you everything starts to collapse, and you start second guessing yourself and then you fuck it all up. Shaw checked the mirrors; the sight of the trailing headlights behind them, still on their tail, was the only method she could think of to distract herself from Root’s distracting gaze.

Shaw didn’t respond, so Root continued.

‘At first. Still, sometimes.’

Root stopped looking at Shaw, eyes back on the road. She didn’t bother checking where their pursuers were. It didn’t make any difference how close they were: they would never catch Shaw.

‘And now?’

‘You get used to it. Background noise: part of the furniture. Now it’s more overwhelming when She’s not speaking to me, or can’t.’

‘Like now.’

‘No, She can speak to me now; She just can’t see me. She’s telling me all about the men in the cars and their weaknesses; the probability that they’ll catch us – which is low,’ Shaw smirked, ‘and that you should take the next left.’

Root indicated with her head to a break in the trees, invisible in the dark, that would lead them down an even smaller road – thankfully still tarmacked – and would force Shaw to make a sharp turn to make it.

‘She couldn’t have told you that earlier?’

Root shrugged. ‘It would be less precise.’

Shaw could understand that. Not from the mathematical point of view, though she understood that the further in the future your prediction was from your current point the less precise it would be, but in a practical sense: what use was it if the Machine was telling Root in vague terms back in the pharmaceutical company garage that x-number of corners on this unspecified dark back road, she should tell Shaw to take a left that was barely visible in the daylight, let alone in the dark.

‘She ever shut up?’

Shaw shifted them into a higher gear, looking with satisfaction as one of the cars missed the corner, driving into a ditch.

Root smiled lightly. ‘If I asked.’

‘You like it?’

‘I find it…’ Root trailed off.

‘Soothing.’

‘Fascinating. When I first heard Her, I was overwhelmed. I was in a park with Finch-‘

‘You kidnapped him.’

‘Borrowed. I borrowed him to find Her. She was in my ear, speaking, trying to tell me everything She saw, as She saw it. Do you know how much She sees, Sameen? In a second. How much She processes?’

Shaw didn’t respond: partly because Root was getting that dreamy look in her eye, Shaw could tell, but partly because she did know. At least theoretically, because it was on a scale neither of them could imagine. Overwhelming.

‘I was in awe. But after it all, in the ward-‘

‘Asylum.’

‘-stepping outside for the first time in so long, as a free woman,’ Shaw scoffed at the dramatics, ‘having lost Her once, I was no longer in awe, or scared of it all. I needed it.’

‘So She talks non-stop.’

Root shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’

‘You’re not really answering my questions, Root.’

‘Slow down and take this right. Turn the headlights off. Come to a stop in the barn. They’ll drive by. There’s a bike in the barn we can switch to.’

Shaw grunted in the affirmative, obeying without question: trusting Root. And the Machine.

‘She speaks when I ask Her to. Even that very first time in the park I asked Her. In the ward, I would ask Her to tell me everything She saw: As much of it as possible.’

‘Wired into the mainframe,’ muttered Shaw, taking the right and slowing on the loose gravel path, the engine barely discernable now.

Root shot her a look. ‘She is not the Matrix.’

‘No, the Matrix was cooler.’

Root ignored her. ‘Imagine knowing everything about everyone you ever meet. Seeing the links: never being without the certainty of that voice in your ear, telling you what everyone else might do before they even do it.’

‘Kind of creepy.’

Root fell into silence as Shaw pulled up into the barn and cut the engine, watching white dots in the distance drive away, searching for them. They sat in silence: two people in the dark.

‘What’s She saying now?’

‘Nothing.’

Shaw looked at Root, who seemed unphased. But after everything Root had just said – comfort and safety blankets and all that crap that basically amounted to “knowledge is power” – Shaw knew better. She waited.

‘She told me about you once. I never asked. It was-‘

‘For the mission. I remember.’

‘She only speaks when I ask, Sameen. When I need Her.’

Root unbuckled her seat belt, and slid open the door. It was cold.

Shaw didn’t ask why Root didn’t need Her now. She suspected she wouldn’t like what she was told.

She suspected she knew the answer already.


End file.
